


Bloodletting (the Final Cut)

by Valyssia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Award Winners, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Mirror Universe, Post Season 7, Redemption, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:05:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 101,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyssia/pseuds/Valyssia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a  rough sequel to my friend <a href="http://mabus101.livejournal.com">Mabus’s</a> story <a href="http://mabus101.livejournal.com/36541.html"><em>Blood  Line</em></a>. I was neck deep in the beta for his story when he gave me his blessing  to write a follow up. It says  something of my character that I took a short story that was written on a lark and  turned it into a novel length drama.</p><p>In <em>Blood Line</em> Buffy becomes a vampire  before she’s chosen. She rules Sunnydale with an iron fist for seven years  prior to the story opening. The crux of the piece is that Willow is coerced  into performing the hat trick she does in canon at the series end, but instead  of being the big hero moment, the spell is corrupted to turn the potentials  into slayer-vampires.</p><p>For the  follow up, I played loose and fast with the world Mabus constructed. A great  many of the details change, but the final events of his story hold mostly true.</p><p>Buffy and Willow start off  as broken as you’re likely to see them. Be patient. This story is about how learning to  love can lead to redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Dreams

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
>  [ _Cover Art by Wenj_ ](http://blacklagoon.left-unspoken.net/)

The vermin in the adjacent bus seat scurried closer, intent on getting cozy.

 ** _Great._** _I bathed today, so I’m a target._ “Do it and lose an arm,” Buffy snarled, meeting his challenge by holding his gaze. _You smell like dinner._ She allowed herself the slightest reaction. Her eyes flashed golden.

 _Really, his breath smells like ass._ _I’m not sure my standards have sunk that low._ She blinked the tingles away and he was halfway down the aisle.

With his pasty, piss-yellow face out of hers, she quickly lost interest. _Stupid cattle. You’d think they’d clue. Looks too good to be true—there might just be a catch._

A rumbling engine, squealing brakes and rattling doors signaled his departure. More rumbling and rattling and they were underway again.

Now that their dance was done, and the other lowlifes had finally taken the hint, Buffy afforded herself the luxury of peering out the window. The monotonous cityscape whisked past. _This was a mistake. Like I couldn’t cough the cash for a cab to save myself the hassle._

 _But what’s one more? Mistakes, bad judgment, bad ideas, good ideas gone bad. I’ve seen it all. All in the past couple weeks. To think I had a handle on my life once._

 _And my hand around the throat of anyone who mattered._

 _Then came the realization: I was fucking a cellar dweller. Such a stud. Twentyish-years-old and still wearing his high school letterman’s jacket._

 _Loser._

 _That shouldn’t’ve been a revelation. I should’ve seen that my life was headed for the shitter. But **no** , like an idiot, I went on._

 _No problem. I had it all under control._

 _Yeah, oodles of control here._

 _Spiraling can be a controlled thing, right?_

 _In my defense, it wasn’t just me. Will and Tara were totally snowed too. Like that makes it all better._

 _And look at me now. One week later, I’m sitting on a bus that smells like desiccating wino, saddled with soul so worthless that I can’t even sell the damn thing. Seems there’s no shortage of immature, superficial, drama-queen souls. Or that’s what the demon said before I eviscerated him._

 _But the real feature is the company I keep. She’s a bit—well, she’s interesting, challenging, intriguing even._

 _Actually, she scares the fuck out of me._

 _Wish I could think of something else. Some other way. This is—_

 _I don’t think there’s a fix short of this for her. Any time she’s even a little bit lucid, she acts like I’m the special of the day. Scratch that—like chocolate, and not that Hershey’s shit. That stuff’s okay in a pinch, but— **really**._

 _I think I’ll take a pass on damseling my way through another rape scene. That’s **so** last week._

Giving the street sign a quick glance, she rose from her seat. _Thank God!_

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cigarette as she moved down the aisle. When she stepped onto the sidewalk, it was lit. _Talk about mistakes. Nasty habit._ She took a drag. _Really, this one’s really kinda tiny. Inconsequential when you consider the rest._

 _Nerves._

Slowly releasing the smoke, she set off down the street. A wispy cloud trailed behind her. _It helps a little._

 _And if I just keep telling myself that…_

Ducking down an alley, Buffy made her way to the back of the building. Her attention fixed on its fire escape. She jumped to grab the ladder and climbed effortlessly onto the landing. Crouching down to look in the window, she hammered on the glass and called out, “Look, Mr. Kalderash, I know you’re in there. I just need a minute of your time.” _Old bastard has to be part of the same clan. Stupid gypsies. Like ‘Kalderash’ is even a common name. Little magic shop below the apartment, it’s the same crowd._

Thudding sounded from inside the shabby little apartment. “Go avay!” a man barked from inside.

“Not gonna,” Buffy replied. She cleared her throat in a vain effort to keep her tone amiable. “Call the copsand—let’s just say _—_ not the smartest move you’ll ever make. There are a few creative, flamey ways for me to get around the ban, but I’d rather just skip them. My drama quota’s pretty much maxed for the week. Can we just talk?”

An old man finally came to the window with a cross in hand. _Jeez, this guy makes Mr. Heckles look sexy. What trash pile did he dig that robe out of? I've seen homeless people with more fashion sense._ Rolling her eyes, she said dismissively, “Look at me, Mr. Kalderash. I’m about as cursed as they come. All chock full of soul. ’Sides, if I wanted you dead, I sure wouldn’t go about it this way. Now open up.”

He stared at her through the glass for several moments. Finally, he slid the window sash up, asking in an irritated manner, “Vhat do you vant?”

Buffy cut right to the chase. “Gotta problem and I’m paying well if you can fix it. Simple. Easy money. But it has to be done tonight.”

After a few moments of consideration, he reached for the window. Pushing down, he grumbled, “I do not feex ze eessues of ze dead.” The window fell. He righted himself and turned, shouting, “Deis? Deis is no concern of mine! Now be gone!” as he tromped away.

She caught the falling window with the very tips of her fingers. Hastily, she called out, “Five hundred down, five hundred on completion, does that change your mind?” The old man froze in his tracks. She lifted the window back up. “Look, it’s even in your best interest to help.” Her tone wasn’t quite pleading. _Dammit! Just say ‘yes’ you old freak!_

He slowly turned toward the open window. Folding his arms, he said, “I’m leesenink.”

“It’s pretty simple,” she explained by ticking off dispassionately, “I’ve got this friend—recently vamped— _majorly_ powerful witch. It’s a really bad combo. She needs a soul stat.”

His brow furrowed.

Sensing the question, she went on, “I’ve been keeping her too medicated to function, but I’m almost out of drugs. If you’re stupid enough to turn me down, you’ll know when I run out. My guess…she’s gonna wanna turn this part of town into a beach park.” _Like I give a rat’s ass, but he should. L.A.’d be a much nicer place at the bottom of the Pacific._

 _Well, okay so…it’d be a great loss to fashion and retail, not to mention film, but—_

The furrows in the old guy’s face deepened comically. _He looks like a caricature._ Buffy restrained a giggle. _This is gonna end well._

“But ve are thirty miles from ze ocean,” he said, like that was even news.

A giggle slipped out. She snarked through an impish grin, “Now you’re firming up.” Pulling a wad of cash from her pocket, she waved it. “If you’re in, meet me out front in ten. If not… _move_.” Without giving him a chance to answer, she sprung backwards over the rail, turned a graceful somersault and landed on her feet below the fire escape.

After shoving the cash back in her pocket, she took out a cigarette and started patting her person in search of a lighter. An exasperated gasp passed her lips as she made her way around the building.

Her lighter was in the last place she checked, which was of course, was the last place to check. Pausing mid-stride, she held it up, clicked the striker, dipped the tip of her smoke into the flame and inhaled.

 _Nasty things…but I think they help._

  


* * *

  


Clutching her stomach, Faith stumbled through the doorway of her motel room. Her head lolled forward. She stared down at her blood soaked shirt. A droplet fell from the heel of her hand. It splashed onto the floor as she kicked the door closed.

Summoning her last ounce of strength, she staggered toward the bed. When she fell forward onto it, the mattress bounced and she bit back a cry. _This could start to heal any time now and that’d be—_

An eternity passed as she lay there drifting in and out of consciousness. Eventually, a knock at the door stirred her back to life. It was all she could do to push herself up and cross the room. She threw the door open without a word, hoping the act wouldn’t be her last.

When she saw Amy, her legs turned to Jell-O. Faith slumped forward into her friend’s arms and everything went even blurrier. She closed her eyes, only vaguely aware that she was being dragged. It was impossible to stifle a whimper when she dropped onto the bed this time. Floundering onto her side, she curled into a ball, clutching her shins.  

Amy’s soft voice broke through the haze. “What the hell did you get yourself into?” Her tone was chiding, but at the same time terrified.

Gently, Amy coaxed Faith onto her back as she struggled to answer, choking instead. Faith sprawled out, wincing when, moments later, something was pressed to her wound. She hadn’t even noticed Amy’s absence, but she had to have left the room because there was a towel in her hand.

After peeling Faith’s shirt up, Amy mumbled, “This is way beyond anything I’ve—” Distress won out. She couldn’t go on.

The pressure on Faith’s stomach lifted just a little, just enough to intensify the pain. She’d been pretty sure that the pressure was making it worse, but she was wrong. She didn’t even try to identify the source of the clattering sound. All she cared was that it brought on another shift in pressure. As she gulped for breath, trying to get past the agony in her gut, Amy’s crisp, anxious voice rang out, “Yes, there’s been an accident.”

  


* * *

  


“You can’t seriously expect me to get in that thing?” Buffy asked, hoping the old man was kidding. Thick, oily smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe of the ancient Buick.

Mr. Kalderash leaned over and threw the passenger door open. “You vould prefer ve valk?”

Raising an eyebrow, she climbed inside and slumped into the grubby, threadbare seat, mumbling to herself, “We may anyway, but whatever.” _Guess it beats the damn bus. But it’s not like that’s hard. Crawling back to the hotel through the sewers may beat the damn bus._ When she slammed her door, she could have sworn she heard something fall off the car, but that just seemed too cliché, so she shrugged it off. “You have everything?” she asked.

“I have vat ve need, yies,” he replied.

As the old car chugged onto the street, she remarked dully, “Place is just off the two-ten in Pasadena.” Propping her elbow against the glass, she took her head in her hand and stared sullenly at the world outside.

 _Fuck._

Her eyes drifted shut and she saw the same thing she’d been seeing any time she had a moment’s peace. Eyes open or shut, it barely mattered. She had a constant reminder back at the hotel room that things were very fucked up. Willow, but not—not like she was used to.

 _She’s like she was the day we met, like I’d stumbled back in time. Red hair fell down over her face. Her eyes were bright greenish-hazel. They’d both been black for so long I’d forgotten. The usual snarky mischief wasn’t even a thing. She pled with me with those eyes. A tear trickled down her cheek. It was the weirdest thing ever._

 _Alright, well…it’s not like I haven’t been over this a hundred times this week. May as well make it a hundred and one. I’ll still be just as clueless what went wrong because, the hell of it is, everything went right. I said my lines. I did everything I should’ve. But when the blood met in the middle of the scythe…wow! There was this blinding light and searing pain. I thought I was gonna burst into flames on the spot._

 _It’s not like I expected it to feel good, but—_

 _Okay, **well** , maybe I did. This was s’posed to be my big moment after all._

 _Big moment, **yeah** …I think that’s when it happened—when I grew a conscience. But I have no idea why. I mean, **so** not a part of the expected program._

 _Faith was on her feet before me. Somehow, the tricky bitch managed to get—_

The sharp turn onto the two-ten shifted Buffy in her seat. Her eyes snapped open. She glanced around to make sure everything was okay. Nothing had really changed. The old man and his car were still on their last legs. _This next part promises to be dicey._ Building speed to merge with traffic wasn’t something the old Buick had in it. It chugged and sputtered and groaned.

When no bone shattering, teeth rattling crashes came, Buffy went back to examining what she wished could just be figments. _It was all about Faith owning me for the first few ticks. Hope she cherishes those memories ’cause that’s **so** much of the past. The spell worked. I got stronger. I got what I deserved. What was stolen.  _

 _Of course, there was an annoying little gift with purchase, but I’ll—_

 _Fuck, I dunno…I guess I’ll live. Surviving’s sorta what I do._

 _There were these awful, skull splitting visions. Girls getting turned. Some of them—well, the ones in the wrong time zone—they didn’t make it. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. One thing at a time. I immolated a ton of little girls._

 _Pre-soul, when we cooked this up, that was just a ‘cost of doing business.’ Now, I feel like shit._

 _Not that that makes a huge diff. Once a mass murderer, always a mass murderer. This was just about the frosting._

 _Faith was getting torn up by the visions. She doubled over each time. No clue why she wasn’t turned. But I’m not so much sweating the small shit. I was getting faster, stronger, more powerful, exactly what I wanted, but I was terrified. I can’t remember being that afraid since—_

 _I ran._

 _Second time in my whole life I panicked._

 _Pain always pissed me off. Hurting me in hopes of making me weaker never ended well for the other guy. I always processed it backwards, even as a little girl. But what I saw in that room—something told me that getting outta there would make it stop._

 _I’m not even sure what really stopped it. I guess it was Faith. Or maybe it stopped on its own._

 _When I poked my head through the trapdoor, I froze again. Me! I just stood there like an idiot. I heard the gunshot, but I didn’t get it. It wasn’t till I saw…_

 _Actually, it happened right as our blood met in the middle of the scythe. Sort of ironic. I get hit with a soul and Will gets hit with a—_

 _I stared into her eyes for a few seconds that felt like minutes before I got over it. I climbed out of the hole, snatched her from the Superfriends and bolted. I think those morons were actually trying to help her. She was way too far gone for any of Amy’s pathetic tricks._

 _As I ran, I took a bath in Willow. Her blood was all over both of us. I remember thinking, ‘Did I just rescue her?’_

 _Me rescue someone? Now there’s a laugh. But I hadn’t just taken her for road munchies, so…_

 _I told myself I took her because she was familiar. Because I needed something stable in the chaos. Thing is, I think now I took her because I felt compassion. Crazy. I didn’t know how to deal. That’s a totally alien emotion for me._

 _It was the weirdest thing. I laid her down in the woods and again just stared, trying to figure it out. She was so close to death, but something in her eyes gave her away. There was some part of her—something I hadn’t managed to kill—a piece of her actually loved me. That’s why she stuck around. It was never about being a good minion, or anything she might gain. She **actually** loved me._

 _Total mind fuck for a vamp. Hard to even get your head around. It was my soul. At least I think that was it. I doubt I would’ve seen that without it._

 _Blood bubbled from the wound in her chest. She wasn’t gonna last much longer. I’d made her so much worse. She had a few minutes max. So I did the only thing I could: I made her a real monster—really mine in every way. I held her as she died. I combed my fingers through her hair, felt her go limp and carried her with me as I ran._

 _I have no idea whether it was the right choice, but it was the choice I—_

“You vill ’ave to tiell me vich exit.”

Buffy flinched. She blinked and watched the sign for the first Pasadena exit rush by.

“Vich exeit, Miess?” he stressed.

Still trying to get her bearings, Buffy gasped, “Oh.” Her attention fixed on the next sign. She squinted to read it before remarking, “It’s the next one up.”

Despite the interruption, the effects of her daydream lingered. _Regret, now? What’s next, humility? Maybe I can try on a little temperance and see how that fits?_

 _Yeah, this doesn’t totally fucking suck._

  


* * *

  


A breeze rustled the pages of the magazine Amy was idly flipping through in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves. She looked up just in time to see Jonathan run through the door with Giles on his tail. They came to a stop in front of her, one right after the other.

Giles was seriously huffing and puffing. And so mussed and damp, he looked like he’d run a marathon. _It’s probably just that heavy tweed and Southern California don’t mix. You’d think he’d learn._ When he stooped to brace his upper body against his thighs with his arms, Amy almost cracked a grin.

Despite the possibility of pending heart attacks, they both gave her an expectant glare. But it was Jonathan who found the breath to ask, “How is she?”

Casting the magazine aside, she commented dryly, “They took her up to surgery a little while ago. No clue. They’ve been doing their best to brush me off.”

It took Giles another moment to recover. Righting himself, he offered in his usual genial tone, “Perhaps I might be able to get some answers.” A would-be reassuring smile, that wouldn’t have been had she not known Giles, passed over his dewy, flushed face. She still had her doubts. _Yeah, and that might’ve just been one final, beautiful delusion before he passes out._ It wasn’t until he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket that she figured he was alright. He blotted his cheeks and brow as he strolled to the intake desk.

Jonathan sat in the chair next to hers. His expression drew with concern as he asked, “So what happened? Last I checked, we were doing okay. I mean, we did stop Buffy, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Amy replied. “We still have no idea how far it went. I kind of hoped that when Faith grabbed the scythe, she stopped the whole thing. Y’know, reset it.” _That’s probably wishful thinking. If even one of Buffy’s new little minions survived, that’d explain all of this._ “Buffy did get away. And she took Willow with her. No telling what those two are up to.” Pausing, she injected a hefty dose of dull sarcasm into her tone. “But yeah…we stopped them. We’re heroes.” _What’s the point?_ _We’ve discussed this to death. Everything except for the hows and whys of his handgun possession. He’s been more than a little evasive on that subject._

“So, it might’ve been them?” Jonathan asked, casting nervous glances around the room.

 _Though, I suppose, if it’s possible for a gun to be a good thing, it was. I’m just not sure it’s possible._

Amy shook her head. “No idea,” she said. “The crazy bitch was trying to turn every potential slayer on the planet into doubly demon-stuffed dead things. I’m not even sure how that works. Demons aren’t typically known for being cuddly. Seems like trying to cram two of them into the same tiny body—” she mimed an overt clenched-jawed cringe “—let’s just say I’m glad it wasn’t me. But if it worked even once, our problems just got a whole lot worse. And Faith said Queen B. was trying to control them too. We’re beyond screwed if that happened.”

Jonathan replied, “Yeah, I heard that. I thought the spell flopped too. I mean, Faith’s still human and you’d think—” His attention turned to his laced fingers. He peered thoughtfully down at them for a moment before he remarked, “You don’t suppose if Buffy was the starting point for the magic…” He paused to rub his chin.

Amy picked the thought up and declared, “That makes sense.” Her eyes lit with understanding. “If Buffy was the source, Faith might’ve been the conclusion. She might not’ve been effected because the magic never reached her. Which means—”

Intentionally taking the wind from the witch’s sails, he interrupted, “It means nothing. It suggests stuff, but that’s nothing new.” After looking her over for a moment, he asked, “Amy, why don’t you go home for a bit? Giles and I can take it—”

Fury rose, like the bile in her throat. She spat, “What makes you think I’d even consider—?”

As she glared, Jonathan sheepishly motioned for her to look down. She did and shrugged. All she saw was cleavage.

He put his hands up signaling a truce, then, using a single finger, he hooked the stretchy lace at the hem of her shirt and pulled. It was an extremely deft and gutsy move for him, so she tolerated it. He almost managed to do it without touching her tummy.

“Oh shit!” Amy gasped, slouching to stare at her blood spattered shirt and jeans. Something inside her snapped and she began to sob.

Getting up to offer her a hug, Jonathan gently coaxed, “We’ve got it. Go grab a shower and come back. If she’s in surgery, there isn’t anything we can do right now anyway. It’ll be hours before she’s out of recovery.”

Amy stood and craned into the embrace, conscious she might pass her current affliction on. It took her several moments to calm enough to speak, and when she did, her voice was so thick and uncooperative she practically gagged on her words. “I don’t know if I can do this, Jonathan.”

“You can,” he replied confidently. After gently coaxing her to meet his eyes, he added, “Go home and get cleaned up. We’ll be here when you get back. It won’t take that long. Okay?”

She turned out of his grasp and nodded.

  


* * *

  


Buffy slid the keycard into the lock, opening the door. “It’s been a pain keeping the maids out of here,” she remarked offhandedly as she ushered the old man inside.

Mr. Kalderash wandered into the room, glancing at Willow. She was still strapped to a hospital backboard with ratcheting tie-downs. “And she vill be unconscious for ’ow long?” he inquired.

“Umm…we may have another hour,” Buffy said. Quickly counting back in her head, she amended, “Maybe two.”

He nodded before painfully kneeling. As he began to unpack his bag, he asked, “If you could steip outzide, Meiss?”

“Not a chance,” Buffy replied, settling down into one of two chairs on the edge of the room. She located her cigarettes and placed them on the table next to her. Taking one from the pack, she clutched it between her lips and began the search for her ever-elusive lighter. “Sorry, clueless why, but staking her just isn’t an option. If it was, I’d be over this already and you wouldn’t be here.”

Her lighter finally turned up in her jeans pocket, wedged against the seam. She fished it out. Sitting up, she lit the cigarette and commented through the smoke. “I can’t let you do that. I’d have to kill you. And—well, I’ve been trying to turn over this new leaf. You wouldn’t wanna go and ruin that for me, would ya?” _Yeah…so much for my nerves. They’re as shot as Mr. Heckles’ hat._

Eyeing the old man, she took a sharp drag off her cigarette. _He’s wigged. And not just the usual ‘I’m in a room with two vamps kinda wig.’ There’s something else._ Exhaling slowly, she drew the smoke back into her lungs via an extended French inhale before asking, “Have you ever done this?”

“Deis eis not ze sort of ting a man eis normally called upon to do amongst my people,” the old man admitted. Glancing up at the vampire, he offered, “I vill do eit…or I vill call on one who kien.”

Buffy nodded, holding eye contact to establish an understanding. “You _will_ get it done, or we _will_ have a problem.” Her eyes flashed briefly golden. When their natural color restored, she winked. “No pressure. Do your thing. I’ll be right here.” She stifled a giggle as she spoke.

“Eif you vould not do deese.” He motioned to the cigarette.

“Christ! Now I can’t smoke?” Buffy snarled, violently stamping the cigarette out in the ashtray beside her.

The old man was shaking hard enough to rattle the various items he was pulling from his bag. “Ee-eit eis just dat dere aire speecifeec tings vee burn for deis ritual. I am uncerteen vhat effect ze tobacco vill ’ave,” he offered sheepishly.

“Oh! Okay…I can totally see that,” Buffy replied. Sighing deeply, she added a muted, “Sorry.” Her eyes fixed on a blank patch of wall.

 _Wow! What’s my damage? Now I’m apologizing to some stupid human?_

 _I can see it now. Next I’ll end up in a confessional. ‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned… **a lot**. It’s been never since my last confession and boy, have I got a story for you.’ _ She grinned. _‘How’s that? Oh, yeah, I do look like I’m twelve. Trust me, you don’t want to know. Oh, and could you keep that holy water to yourself. Exfoliating’s good and all, but not so much.’_

 _Yeah._

 _Let’s not._

She listened to the old man when he started chanting, trying to make sense of the gibberish. _And that’s not pointless._ She leaned back in the chair, tossing her leg over the arm. _I’m not even sure why I’m bothering with this. After all the shit I’ve put her through, what’s a soul really gonna mean? Will sorta rewrote the definition of ‘loose morality.’_

 _I think she was worse than me in some respects and, up till last week, I was soulless. But I always did stuff for a reason. I had a plan. She never seemed to need one or, if she did, it was totally lost in the Willow-logic._

 _Total mystery to me why she did some of the crazy shit she did. But she always did what I asked—well, almost always. Now, I don’t want to do some of the stuff she’ll probably take for granted. Finding a middle—if there is one—could be fun._

 _Bottom line: I can dust a vamp in a tenth of a second—give, take—if they’re in reach. No weapon, just me. Gotta love the new tricks._

 _I’d better. They were pricey enough._

 _Will can immolate a vamp with an absent thought. It won’t come to that. But, realistically, if it did, flip a coin. Before it’s back in hand, one of us is ash._

 _Thing is, I think she’ll be as puzzled as I am about the big rescue. She’ll wanna know what the hell’s wrong with me. And if I knew…I might even consider sharing. My ass has always been way more important to me than just about— **no** , scratch that—than **anything** else. That’s how I survive. No one else gives a shit about me. Okay—fair again—’cept maybe Will._

 _And, hey, look at that…the logic train just made a full lap. No wrecks or anything._

The orb in front of Mr. Kalderash began to shimmer with a soft, golden light. Buffy watched the show with mixed interest. _Looks promising. Go, go, Mr. Heckles. It’d be a shame to have to hurt such a nice old man._

 _Goddammit, I need help!_

While she was wigging over her newfound benevolence, Willow’s eyes glowed with a brief purple radiance. Buffy caught the lightshow and stood up. Digging into her pocket, she counted out another five hundred dollars and asked, “We done?”

When he nodded, she held the money within reach. “Yies, yies…I believe so,” he replied weakly. Gratefully taking the cash, he rushed dizzily to pack his things.

Buffy flopped into her chair and grabbed a cigarette. Lighting up, she watched as the old man staggered out the door.

 _And now things get interesting._


	2. Willow Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My characterization of Willow might be off-putting for some. She begins this tale quite harsh. Not the harshest I’ve seen by far, but definitely not the same character we recall from the show. I considered softening her reactions when I looked at this again and came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be good for the overall story. We need to see her truly broken to recognize the progress she makes, even in the first few chapters.

As Willow drifted on the edge of sleep, the sound of sprinkling water lulled her. Raindrops splashed her skin. They seemed so real. The illusion might’ve lasted longer, but the incongruent, acrid smells of smoke and rancid meat ruined it for her. Instead of wet and refreshed, her body felt distant and impossibly heavy.

Water spattered. It startled her. Her eyes snapped open. At first, she wasn’t even sure it was water. The sound was loud, almost like a sprinkler hitting a window, only this was less of a thud and more of a clap. As she peered blearily around the room, the continued pitter pat conjured another image: Buffy in the shower. _Now that has definite yumminess potential. The sound was just her wringing out her hair._

 _But it can’t be. She doesn’t smoke and this place is like a bar._

 _Well, I should know soon enough ’cause the wringing—that usually comes last._

Willow’s mystery host turned off the water. She shut her eyes, listening to movement in the bathroom. _It has to be Buffy, right? I mean, I—_

She strained to remember. _There was—_

 _There was pain. A shitload of pain. My chest hurt so bad that it didn’t hurt anymore._ Her hand moved reflexively to check. She felt the thin, tattered fabric of her dress. Her fingers caught on a hole in the material beneath her right breast. A knot formed in her stomach.

 _Fuck me! That was real?_

The bathroom door swung open. Willow didn’t move. Moments later the click and faint yellowish glow of a light being turned on came from the opposite side of the room, closely followed by the crackley thump of a refrigerator door opening. Buffy had made her way around the bed. Next, Willow heard the flap of a plastic bag hitting something, probably the refrigerator. But not just any kind of bag, the sound was a solid thwap that brought heavy plastic to mind. _Maybe a sterile IV bag? Bagged blood? But Buffy hates that shit._ Liquid trickled into a glass. Finally, a microwave touchpad beeped a tinny little ditty.

 _Well, there’s only one way I’m gonna know for sure…_ “Buffy?” The weak, scratchy sound of her own voice made Willow cringe. She turned toward the source of the disturbance and opened her eyes, immediately squinting because her vision was blurred. The back light wasn’t exactly doing her any favors either.

The little blonde vampire was standing in front of a kitchenette set into a closet. Willow had trouble understanding the lumpy, bumpy, gnarled skin she thought she saw above the level of the towel Buffy had wrapped around her. It might’ve been a trick of the obnoxious light. Half a dozen blinks later nothing had changed, so Willow asked, “What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

Buffy muttered, “Huh?” more intent on warming blood than on anything to do with Willow.

Willow was about to press the point when Buffy stopped the microwave by stabbing at the door release. She removed the glass and walked over to the bed. “You’re gonna want this,” she stated matter-of-factly and set the glass on the bedside table.

That held Willow’s attention for a second or two tops. She was way more interested in Buffy than she was in some stupid glass. Carefully tracking the vampire’s progress around the room, Willow mentally inventoried the scars. _I would’ve noticed those._

Buffy snatched up a shopping bag en route and vanished into the bathroom.

Alone again, Willow thought back, trying to recall whether she’d ever seen Buffy’s chest or back before. The answer she came up with was somehow not ‘yes.’ _Never more than you’d see with a v-neck top. That’s so weird. I always thought it—well, I’m not sure I thought much at all. I just wanted to see more. Uh…_

Returning her attention to the glass, she groaned. _Goddammit, I hurt!_

As she lay there like a lump— _an ouchy, grouchy, grumpy lump_ —the details clicked—the wineglass; the blood; the crusty, cardstock feel of her dress; the hole with no scar; and the glaring fact that not breathing didn’t seem to be an issue—it wasn’t that hard to put together. _So, she finally did it. Somehow I’m not shocked. I knew it’d happen eventually, or—_

 _No, I’m way too useful. She wouldn’t just let me go._

A memory snuck in, interrupting her cluttered thoughts. Buffy craned over her, all pointy teeth and bumpy brow. _How she managed to look concerned—?_

 _It was almost comical—something to do with her eyes. Yellow eyes—_

Willow snickered and caught a whiff of—

 _What in the—?_

Not breathing was far in a way preferable. _God! That smell!_ “Ughhh…” She gagged. It was her dress. _All that dry, crusty, long-putrid blood. That was the smell…_ Her nose wrinkled with disgust. _How’d Buffy manage to sleep? I smell like a morgue drain and I’m only seeing one bed._

Willow concentrated on not breathing, because now that she had, her subconscious mind seemed bent on screwing with her. _There’s no way I’ve been here that long. Have I? How long does it take for blood to get this rancid? Days?_

 _Uh…_

She searched her memory. No surprise, being shot was the high point. It really left an impression. _The whole split second of it._ The replay looked more like ten minutes. Every detail was burned into her brain. _The expression on Jonathan’s face was priceless._

 _They were all priceless. None of the goodie-goodie good guys were ready for that. Guns are messy, loud, vulgar, violent…_

 _I might’ve laughed if I’d had time, or the presence of mind not to fixate on the smoke erupting from the muzzle of the gun, the way it jumped in his hands, metal sliding back like a manual credit card imprinter, cashing out my life…_

 _None of that’s very helpful. It sure doesn’t explain why Buffy’s turned into some sort of bleeding-heart, after-school-special, parody of herself._ _I just wish she’d—_

 _Shit!_

 _Sonuvabitch. I said that. Exactly that. I’m sure I did. I was so livid I couldn’t see straight and I used the word ‘wish’ in front of Tara. I **made** a **wish**. Of all the braindead, boneheaded, amateurish things I could do…_

 _But I don’t remember exactly what I said. I just wanted Buffy to stop acting like such a raging bitch._

Willow sneered so fiercely her nose twitched. Of all things, it tickled. _Fuck!_ She scrunched and stretched her face to make it stop. _Speaking of wish fulfillment…I was making all of her dreams come true. And she wouldn’t give me the time of day. I had every reason to be pissed. I’d put months into that shit and she was treating me like—_

 _Like—_

 _Like she always treated me. Like so much trash. Like a tool._

 _God! I can’t believe I—_

She sighed. _Tara, you evil, fucked-up, manipulative cow!_

 _No. **No** , it’s all good. It can’t be. She wouldn’t have. Tara loved creating—_

A loud thump came from the bathroom. Willow turned her head reflexively toward the door, which was entirely pointless. It was still shut.

 _If this is all about me getting worked up and reading things in—stuff that’s all wild conjecture—then what’s up with—?_

 _Buffy held me. She stroked my hair and whispered to me. And not mean stuff. Sweet stuff. There has to be a reason._

Willow asked, “Why?” when the bathroom door opened. _I’ve got a dozen ‘whys.’ She can fill in the blank._

Striding across the room, Buffy muttered, “Why what?” Her attention was fixed on something else.

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake!_ Willow sat up. Grabbing the pillows from the head of the bed, she propped herself up. “What do you mean ‘why what’?” she replied. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Buffy took a seat, casually crossing her legs.

When the only answer her ‘sire’ offered was to light a cigarette, Willow went off. “Why the fuck am I here? What the fuck happened? Where the fuck are we? How the fuck did we get here? What the fuck’s wrong with you? And what the fuck is up with all those scars? You get what the fuck I mean. It’s not that fucking hard, Buffy.”

Rising to her feet, Buffy replied, “Look, Will, let’s start small.” She scooped up the ashtray, murmuring, “Like with your first question,” as she slowly closed the distance between them. “I didn’t get into a fight. As a vampire, you get to keep all those little mementos from your past.” She paused at the foot of the bed to take a drag off her cigarette. “They never go away. But that isn’t very good dinner conversation.” Gesturing toward the glass, she prodded, “Now drink up like a good girl.” She rounded the bed, tugging at the zipper on her tight black leather jacket. It closed another tick or two more, scrunching her breasts.  

Willow stared shamelessly at Buffy’s cleavage, but strangely, her mind wasn’t on sex. Her brow furrowed. She was trying to fill in the blanks. What she wasn’t being told. _Mementos of her past? Like Jim Caviezel in the wake of a Mel Gibson production. There are scars that just won’t fade. Yeah, umm…that can’t seriously be the only answer she’s got for me._

When Buffy’s eyes narrowed, she dutifully picked up the glass and took a small sip. It was all Willow could do not to spit the blood out. Her body folded in agony. She let go of the glass.

It wasn’t until Buffy slid in behind her and whispered, “It’ll only get worse if you don’t drink,” that she calmed. Buffy wrapped her arms around Willow. Sometime between the stomach cramps and the retching, Buffy must’ve caught the glass because it reappeared. She helped Willow to steady it. As Willow drained it without protest, Buffy whispered, “Next on the list is a shower. Sorry, Will, but you look like hell. Once you’re done, we can talk.”

Willow stood up and peeled her little black dress away. She glanced down at the caked blood on her chest. Shaking her head, she made her way to the bathroom. She didn’t even look up. Instead, she stepped straight into the shower, turned it on and meticulously began to scrub the blood away. She washed and kept washing until the water flowing down the drain was no longer brownish in color.

The water felt good, so she stood with her head bowed, letting it beat on her back. She let it flow over her face, something that wouldn’t have worked before. It made the change seem even more real.

’ _Kay so…total mind fuck. A nice Buffy? That has distinct possibilities. But the smoking? That’s gotta go._

 _How long was I even out? I’m all caught up with the ‘been vamped’ part. I can’t say I’m really sorry. It sure beats the hell outta dying. And honestly, I don’t feel all that different. A little closer to room temperature, but the water helps._

 _I still don’t get why she saved me? Why would she bother?_

 _It has to be Tara. She did this to screw with me. But I don’t remember exactly what I said. I was so pissed off._

She racked her brain, trying to come up with the exact words she’d used. _Every single one counts. That’s how wishes are. If they can be twisted—_

 _‘I just wish Buffy could feel the same way about me the way I feel about her.’_

 _No, that’s not it. Not quite. It’s close._

 _‘I just wish Buffy **had the capacity** to feel the same way about me that I feel about her.’_

 _Yeah, that might’ve been it. At least that’s closer. But I was just talking about the naughty parts. I thought she was just frigid or too damned straight for her own good._

 _Oh shit. You gave her a soul! **Tara.** Talk about radical interpretations of the text! You nasty, cunty, jealous, unbelievable bitch!_

 _Wishes!_

 _But—well, it’s not all bad. I’m still alive, so I guess I’ll start adapting. I bet Buffy’s confused as hell. There’s no way I’m ever gonna let her know I did this._

 _Oh, and Tara, she looked damned good as a rat. I need to find her power center. Destroying it would reset the mojo, but there’s no way Buffy would stop for me without it. I need to hide it and keep it safe, otherwise…no more Willow. As choices go…_

Turning off the shower, she stepped out and grabbed a towel. After patting her face dry and rubbing her hair, she wrapped the towel around herself. A quick glance in the mirror finished cementing the truth in her mind. _She’s still got some serious explaining to do._ She left the bathroom and walked right up to Buffy. “It’s your turn.”

“What part?” Buffy replied, meeting Willow’s gaze.

“You first. What the hell happened to you?” Willow asked. Taking a seat on the bed, she began to go through the shopping bags. _Well, Buffy’s still got expensive taste. Another total shocker._

“We’re not gonna talk about that…ever, so give it up.” Buffy replied in a low, dangerous voice.

Willow muttered, “Yeah,” but in truth, she was only half listening. The contents of the package were far more interesting than some sob story. _I’m kinda glad she doesn’t want to talk about it. She’s already told me everything I need to know._ A bundle of black silk brocade caught her eye. She pulled it out and unrolled it. The corners of her mouth twisted, forming a wicked smile. _It’s just like the one I have back home. She must’ve liked it._ Holding the bustier up, she purred, “For me?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t for me,” Buffy replied snarkily. Taking the last drag off her smoke, she crushed it into the ashtray. “I thought you’d like it.”

Willow removed the towel. Unhooking the front of the bustier, she wrapped it around herself, refastening it. “So, you were saying?” She got up and walked over to Buffy, turning her back. “Oh, and lace me, please?”

Buffy stood up and started to cinch the laces down as she remarked, “Look, I’ve said all I’m gonna. If you can’t listen, it’s not my fault.”

Ignoring the prickle of annoyance, Willow waited patiently for Buffy to finish tying her laces. When the job was done, she pushed her bottom out until she made contact and wiggled.

Buffy took a step back and collided with the chair. Grace won out, but Willow ended up right where she envisioned. They were wrapped in a front to back embrace. Quickly shoving her away, Buffy spat, “Would you stop screwing around?”

Casting an innocent glance over her shoulder, Willow strode to the bed. _Who needs a pet?_ She bent over to retrieve the next item. When she turned around, Buffy was smoking yet another cigarette while she studied the carpet at her feet.

Willow got back to business as she put the miniskirt on. “’Kay, so…how long was I out?” Stooping to remove the shoebox from the final bag, she turned to sit on the edge of the bed. _That’s all I really need. The rest isn’t important. I sorta got the ‘where’ from the sound of traffic at—what is it?_ She glanced that the clock on the nightstand. _Two a.m. We’re in L.A. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The ‘how’ doesn’t matter. That she did is—_

The answer, when it finally came, was delivered bluntly. “About a week.”

Willow glanced up. _Uh, wow…I was totally wrong about that._ She placed her forearms over the box lid, crossing her wrists casually as she studied the little blonde vampire. The look was back. _It’s really messed up that after all this time—_

Buffy exhaled. The air between them clouded.

Willow wrinkled her nose and waved away the smoke. When she looked up, Buffy was stamping her cigarette out. Turning her interest back to the box, Willow took out a pair of black stiletto-heeled thigh-high boots and began to remove the packing material. _This is just too funny. The clothes are good. Nothing but the best in high-end hooker-wear._

She slipped on the first boot and zipped it up. _No, she’s not interested. Not at all. She never has been. All those times I caught her sneaking a peek—I was imagining it._

As she put on the second boot, Buffy’s voice drew her attention, “Y’know, I did buy—?”

Willow looked up in time to catch the intent. Buffy averted her eyes and went straight for another cigarette. A giggle bubbled up. The witch didn’t even try to contain it. _She was seriously looking at my crotch. That’s just too funny. I bet if she could blush…_

“I noticed. I never wear those things,” she replied impatiently, “Not unless I’m wearing pants. I don’t know if you managed to figure this out yet or not…” rising to her feet, she strutted over to Buffy “…but here’s a clue. I like to fuck. Underwear’s just a complication.” Extending a hand down, she demanded, “Now let’s go.”

 _And here’s the rest of the story. The only ‘rest’ that really matters. She’s scared of me. She wouldn’t have kept me out so long if she wasn’t. I can totally work with that. She probably did something dumb like have me ensouled in hopes it’d make some huge difference._

 **_Yeah._ **

Raising an eyebrow, Buffy looked up, giving the witch an incredulous glare. She took her sweet time replying. “Where? It’ll be light in a few hours.”

Willow noted the rigid posture and sharp expression on the younger woman’s face. _It’s ironic. All we’ve seen and done, it turns out that the one person she cares about besides herself is also the one who scares the hell out of her. Fear doesn’t suit her at all._

 _And if that wasn’t enough, I don’t think she gets it._

An impish grin twisted her features. _Let’s see what she makes of this:_ “Well, unless you want to fuck me, I’m gonna go find a friend…and a snack.”

Buffy replied, “Will, I’ve stopped feeding on humans,” sounding all determined. “And I can’t let you.” She was even silly enough to place herself between Willow and the door.

“You think you can stop me?” Willow replied through a laugh. _Another funny, you trained me well. I can find hatred without even trying. Now love…love’s a bitch._

She looked Buffy up and down before seizing her magically and splaying her out.

Panic was written all over Buffy’s face. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please don’t,” she croaked through clenched teeth.

Lifting her off the ground, Willow pulled until she heard a series of pops. “Blame yourself when the monster you’ve created bites,” she spat and spun around, stomping into the bathroom.

Once inside, she released her victim and slammed the door. A reflexive glance in the mirror revealed a view of the shower wall. It didn’t come as a shock. But it made her feel foolish. She shrugged it off, picking up a hair brush and pulling it through her short locks.

  


* * *

  


Willow made her way purposefully to the door. Buffy was simply an obstacle to be stepped around. She watched the witch leave. The pain of four dislocated limbs was unspeakable. Her body shook and tensing her muscles to make it stop was just dumb. She gritted her teeth to contain a scream. The tears just came. She could no more stop them than Willow. 

 _Well, that went about like I expected. And for my encore, I’m a ragdoll._

 _Sonuva-fuckin-god-damn—shit! That bitch!_

 _I’ve never felt more useless in my life! Like I can do crap with that!_

 _I remember what it was like to be in control. When did I—?_

 _Goddammit! I hate her!_

 _If I were actually half as smart as I’d like to think I am, I would’ve killed her when I had a chance._

 _Hell, I would’ve just let her die!_

 _But **no** , I was a pathetic, conflicted wuss who had all these feelings._

 _And now, worse, I can’t just let her leave. I’m so fucked in the head that I actually want to go after the crazy bitch._

 _Like she’d really leave. I’m way too much fun to fuck with for her to leave me in peace. She’ll come back just to screw with me._

 _And stupid me. I just can’t wait. I gotta try. At the very least, I may be able to lessen the impact. Maybe I can keep her down to about a five on the Richter Scale._

 _Whatever. I’m a moron._

Her shoulder cracked as it snapped back into place. Buffy screamed. Her arm flopped over her face. She bit down.

When she was finally healed enough to move, she grabbed her smokes and the keycard. _This is **so** gonna suck. _ Tearing off after the witch, she tracked her scent to the street. It took her no time at all to round on her quarry.

She met Willow’s gaze. The black hair, eyes and the general level of badness were easy enough to shrug off. She held her hands up in a halting gesture and demanded, “Will, seriously, don’t.”

 _Yeah, so what happened to the whole ‘sire’ thing? I thought I was supposed to get a little control for my trouble. Like maybe just enough to stop her from tearing me limb-from-limb. That’d be nice._

The expression on Willow’s face suggested that she might be watching a particularly amusing child. She placed her hands on her hips and snarked, “When did you get all noble? Protecting them. Seriously? _Louis_ much?” She marched past Buffy, pushing her out of the way. “You’re boring me.”

Buffy didn’t back down. She outpaced the witch and stopped right in her path. _This is getting old quick. I suppose I could—_

“I’m hungry. Move or I’ll move you,” Willow spat.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the threat and grumbled, “Then move me,” folding her arms across her chest. “Look, Will, here’s the sitch. You’ll move me. It’ll hurt like hell. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll still come after you.”

It amused Buffy that simply hearing the truth made a little of the witch’s anger fade. She reinforced the idea. “Sensing a pattern?” Unfolding her arms, she held them out in an inviting gesture. When nothing immediately came of the offer, she prodded, “Better hurry. Time’s a wasting. It’ll be daylight soon.”

Willow quirked an eyebrow, giving Buffy a look that suggested she might be obtuse. A few seconds ticked by before the witch rolled her eyes and shoved past again. Shaking her head, she marched off down the street.

 _Or not._

 _Fuck!_

 _Okay, so…this isn’t exactly working out like I hoped. If the best I’ve got is annoying…_

Buffy ran to catch up, but she didn’t make it far. When she got within ten feet of the witch, something grabbed her around her middle. The concrete wall she hit cracked on impact. She slid to the ground, landing in a heap. It was a lot like that cartoon thing with the shepherd’s crook. “Ouch,” she groaned. “That went well.” It took her a moment to shake off the pain and spring to her feet.

 _Shit._

 _Nope. Here I go again being all noble…like an idiot._

She brushed the dust off her leather. Obstinately, she tore off after Willow, calling out as she sprinted, “Let me simple this up for you, Will. Either kill me or don’t. I’m not backing down.” _Yeah, look at me go. The real smiting should start any second now._

Spinning to face the charging vampire, Willow placed a hand on her hip and pointed out. “There’s a fine line between stubbornness and stupidity. And you’re seriously pushing it.”

Buffy skidded to a halt. She had no idea why Willow didn’t just turn away, but she wasn’t gonna question it either. Instead, she held the witch’s gaze. _She has a point._ _I am being pathetic. After all the shit I’ve done, **I** suddenly grow a conscience?_

 _Yeah, that’s sensey._

 _Like, somehow I’m gonna make up for my Elizabeth Báthory M.O. with a miraculous streak of kindness. I’m running with a serious deficit in the plus column._

 _Actually, I could mutilate a bus load of nuns just for kicks and my sitch wouldn’t change. Damned is damned._

 _I’m acting like some sort of pathetic cliché. Like Angel, the brooding vampire. Yeah…he was fun. All thirty seconds of him. Or worse—like she said— **Louis**._

 _Shit! That’s it._

“You may be on to something,” Buffy admitted. _This is pathetic too._ Her posture relaxed. _But it’s something I can live with._ “This is gonna sound way too Anne Ricey—as you so sweetly pointed out—but there are a couple of crack dealers that hang in a parking garage up here. One of them’s even kinda cute. Compromise?” ****

“And they don’t use?” Willow asked.

Buffy replied through a smirk, “I’d smell it. Remember me?” She brushed past the witch, setting off purposefully toward their goal. _Killing the evil-doer. Gotta love a good cliché. The good news is, these guys are seriously bad news, so it’s not like I’ll be murdering the next Albert Schweitzer, whoever he is._

Willow matched pace with Buffy and started to coo, “Yeah, you used to love to hunt. It was what you lived for. Inflicting terror and pain.” Her words or, more specifically, the tone of her voice made Buffy grin. The witch gave her a sidelong glance and purred, “That’s my girl,” trailing off into an amused snicker.  

As Buffy turned into the garage and started up the ramp, she asserted, “Only the bad guys from here on. We kill to thin out the other predators.”

“Works for me. It’s really doesn’t matter much so long as they’re cute,” Willow replied, placing a hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “Wait for me. Don’t come till I do.”

When Buffy said, “Alright,” and gave her a nod, Willow strutted away. Not that she planned to obey. Buffy shadowed the witch, circling silently around behind the dealers.

Going through all the motions, it took the witch under a minute to press the cute one against his car. The other dealer tried to appear bored. It wasn’t working for him. He kept sneaking glances. When Willow put her arms around his friend’s neck and pulled herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist, the second mark’s attempts at nonchalance utterly failed. He was thoroughly engrossed in the spectacle as she positioned herself. The cute one groaned. Willow’s body drifted down, settling into place.

Buffy used their preoccupation to her advantage. She slipped in behind her victim. Her right hand closed over his mouth, stifling the impending scream, while her left wrapped around his torso. She towed him to the other side of the car before sinking her fangs into his neck. Shifting her bite, she opened up the wound. Blood poured into her mouth.

Her victim sputtered and wheezed, but her grip on his chest was too tight for him to breathe. Flailing his arms and legs, he fought frantically, trying to break her hold. His life or death struggle was no more than a minor annoyance. It dwindled as he weakened.

She closed her eyes, greedily drinking in the warm pulses of thick, sweet fluid. _Weird, this is the one thing that really brings me any peace at all. And I thought I could throw it away? Will’s right, I am an idiot._ She wished with all her might it would last. But at the same time, understood, like everything else, this was fleeting.

The panting sounds coming from the two lovers grew more desperate as her victim’s heart rate slowed. They blended into a sort of strange chorus. _It doesn’t matter._ _None of this shit matters. All that matters is this one little sound._ Ignoring the other two, she focused intently on the one. _The frail pitter-pat of a single human heart._ Wrenching hard at her victim’s head, she crushed across his chest, trying to milk every last drop from him. His heart stuttered and fell still. She quietly lowered him to the ground.

Her head bowed in concentration. She forced her human mask to return. When she looked up, only her eyes betrayed her true nature. She licked her lips clean before striding around the car. Moments later, her eyes tingled. The sensation was very subtle and easy to miss. But it was important to her. It told her the mask was complete.

Taking position a few feet from Willow, she leaned casually against the car to wait. She cast a sidelong glance at the two enthusiastic lovers. The witch’s head was craned back. Her body moved in a rhythmic cadence against the man’s.

 _Y’know, I just don’t get it._

This was currently the only show in town, so Buffy gave in. _I mean I totally get being horny. Who doesn’t? It’s annoying as hell. What I can’t see is why you’d ever want some random stranger to touch you like that. I don’t even want that from people I know._

Panting and crying, Willow’s back arched. She hung from the stranger’s neck. He cupped her ass, guiding her thrusts and keeping her in place.

 _It’s supposed to feel good. Looks like it does, but…_

 _It never did for me. Of course, the list—it’s less than stellar. The first and last guy I was with—_

The muscles in Willow’s neck and shoulders corded. She made noises that caused Buffy to wonder if she was in pain. _That’s more like what I’m used to. Pain. Lots of pain and creepy-crawly stuff, like there are ants swarming all over my skin._

 _Xander got off on torturing me. He loved to make me squirm. And boy did I work for the wish fulfillment._

A detail caught her eye that caused her pause. _This is totally weird. Her hair color’s returning to normal. Really slowly. It’s subtle._

 _That’s just messed up. Is this somehow good for her? I mean, it just looks gross._  

Finally, the part she could actually relate to arrived. Willow’s face transformed. She seized the man’s head and wrenched it to the side. The writhing didn’t stop when she buried her fangs in his neck. He didn’t even notice. The only sign that something might be wrong was that he gradually weakened. Eventually, his knees buckled. As he slid down the side of the car, he took Willow with him for the ride.

Buffy smiled as the witch dismounted her victim. “Quite a show. I’m not sure whether I should applaud or not.” _Funny, she never kissed him. She used to kiss Tara. And she’s tried to kiss me more than once. I guess if she kisses you, it means she loves you._  

Willow curtsied gracefully and replied in a husky voice, “Thank you,” as she tugged her skirt down.

“Get his money and ditch the drugs,” Buffy instructed dryly. Rounding the car, she threw her victim across her shoulders and set off toward the dumpster in the far corner of the garage.

Moments later, Willow came into view, appearing perfectly human except for one large detail. It was funny to watch her manhandle the limp man into the dumpster. She slammed the lid and remarked, “Nice take…they were quite the enterprising fellows.” She held out her hand, smiling when Buffy took it.

“Let’s get home,” Buffy said, towing the witch along with her. “I can smell the sun.”

“Yeah, I always wondered about that. Now I know what you mean,” Willow replied. Wiping the trace of blood from her lips, she licked her fingers. “Don’t you miss it?” she asked, giving Buffy a quick glance.

“Miss what?” Buffy responded, not quite certain which ‘it’ Willow might mean. _Do I miss the sun? Yes._ _Did I miss the kill? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. I guess that can get chucked onto the pile with all the other shit—_

“Sex,” Willow replied emotionlessly.

Buffy almost fell over. “You’re kidding, right?” She lost it when Willow shot her an ‘I’m dead serious’ look.

 _Oh yeah…I miss that…like I miss sunlight exposure, or a maybe nice face full of holy water. I miss it lots._ Rushing a little to catch up, she was a bit surprised as the witch took her hand again.

Giving Buffy another thoughtful glance, Willow stated, “I don’t think I am.”

“No. There’s nothing to miss,” Buffy responded, fixing her eyes on the ground directly in front of her. “Look, Will, I’ll leave the fucking to you. Let me handle the planning.”

Taking the pack out of her jacket pocket, she pulled out a smoke and began to pat her clothing. A small bulge in the hip pocket of her leather pants caused her to pause. She placed the cigarette between her lips and replaced the pack, fishing out her lighter. Click, flip, puff, and the tension seemed to magically bleed away. _Yup…they help…_

  


* * *

  


Amy tugged at the hem of her shirt, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. Absently brushing her hair back, she pushed the door open, putting on her best fake smile. She made her way to the bed, leaning in to kiss the slayer lightly on the forehead. When Amy withdrew, her smile returned.  She whispered, “How you holding up?” meeting Faith’s eyes.

“Not bad,” Faith replied, but it was plain that she was putting up a front too.

Amy reached out to gently clasp her friend’s hand. It was hard for her to remain calm. _Seeing her like this is—_

She cleared her throat. Intent on keeping the conversation flowing, she asked the obvious question, “What happened?”

Faith’s brow crinkled as she grumbled, “No crying over me,” entirely ignoring the question.

Amy’s resolve crumbled. The tears welled up. She was damned to stop them. _Dammit. I wish she hadn’t said anything. I might’ve been able to—_

Seeing Faith like this simply broke her heart. _How could this happen? This is bullshit!_ _She’s the strong one._ She hung her head. “Can’t help it,” she mumbled. As teardrops dripped from her eyelashes, she cupped her face in hand and mopped them away.

Faith pulled the witch carefully over the bed rail into a gentle hug. “Give me a few. I’ll be up and around. It’s really not that big a deal,” she whispered.

“Not a big deal?” Amy replied, “Is there something I missed? Giles told me they had to take one of your kidneys.” Pulling out of the embrace, she backed up, settling into one of the hard hospital recliners.

Amy met the vacant stare the slayer gave her and grumbled, “So, quit stalling. What happened?” She took a deep breath and angrily wiped her face with her hands. Her back ached already from the horrible chair. The pain gave her something else to dwell on, but she scooted around anyway, trying to get comfortable.

After ruefully shaking her head, Faith recounted the events. “Standard shtick. I was at The Bronze and this vamp left with a meal ticket in tow. So I did my thing. Y’know, the one they pay me so well to do.” She sighed and tried unsuccessfully to stifle the wince that followed. “I get out back and the vamp has him pinned, so I hit her. And that was it. End of show. She moved like nothing I’ve ever seen. Sloppy…” she combed away the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes “…all over the place. No style at all. But you don’t need style when you’re that fast. I’m just lucky her aim wasn’t any better. It was total amateur night, with a wicked new twist.”

“Slayer-vamp?” Amy asked, already knowing the answer.

Faith grumbled, “She had to be,” wincing again as she tried to adjust the pillow behind her head. “She moved like the queen bitch herself.” Amy got up and tried to help. As she fussed with the pillows, Faith continued to speak, “I have no clue why she’s here—” she paused to lean forward “—and her highness has dropped off the radar. Not that I’m complaining about that last bit.”

Amy leaned back to meet Faith’s eyes and stated the obvious, “We’ve got trouble.” _Worried isn’t a good look for her. I’m so used to her silly confidence._

Faith snarked, “Ya think?” Shifting slightly, she clutched her side.

Moving to leave, Amy said, “I’ll let the others know.” _Yeah, we’re seriously screwed._

“Thanks,” Faith replied, turning to face the window.

  


* * *

  


Moving around the room, Buffy made sure the door was chained and the drapes were tightly drawn. She went to the bathroom to change and brush her teeth. When she got back, Willow was already in bed.

“All I could get with a fridge was a single queen,” Buffy commented. As she slipped under the covers, the naked little witch tucked up against her. Buffy rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the expected bullshit factor. _I should’ve saved that board. Getting her onto it would’ve been a party, but worth every single bruise._

“No skin off my back.”

Buffy rolled her eyes again at the tactless remark and grumbled, “Look, if you just have to touch me…” reaching over to switch off the lamp “…don’t do it light _._ None of that gentle shit. It makes my skin crawl.” _If she doesn’t knock it off…_

Willow snickered and purred into her bedfellow’s ear, “I think I can handle that.”

“Oh, and don’t get used to this. We’re leaving tomorrow,” Buffy grumbled, trying to settle for sleep. _Saying ‘no’ is pointless. It’s like she’s got a filter where the word’s concerned. At least she’s taken the hint and firmed up her grip._

Brushing Buffy’s hair away, Willow gently kissed her neck. “Where we headed?”

Buffy flinched. The kiss sent chills ups her spine and not the good kind. _Like they’re ever the good kind. The only time I ever get that is when I do something I know is monumentally stupid and live to not talk about it._ Reaching back to rub her neck, Buffy replied in an arid voice, “Back to Sunnyhell.” _The crap I put up with._

Just when she recovered from the last round, more movement caused her to almost leap out of bed. As the witch craned over her, appearing totally aghast, Buffy gave her a furious glare.

Completely at ease, Willow met her gaze and asked, “Why in Samael would you want to go back there?”

Buffy shook her head. When the annoying little witch finally settled in behind her, she answered the question, “Some friends of mine from out of town are visiting. I need to give them a warm welcome.”

“Friends?”

Buffy pressed against the witch to increase contact so her skin would stop crawling. “Yeah, you know, the slayerettes,” she responded through a sigh. “I have no clue why, but I can feel them moving. They’re headed for the ’Dale and so am I. I need to get to them before they get to me. It’s only a matter of time. If you really do love me, you’ll help.”

“Oh boy,” Willow mumbled, kissing the nape of Buffy’s neck again.

A few peaceful moments slipped by before the next intrusion. The hand threading beneath her tank top didn’t quite cause Buffy to flinch. She tensed, but Willow applied pressure and lifted her hand instead of dragging it each time she moved. This wasn’t nearly as awful as Buffy remembered. She allowed it without protest. It even concerned her that she found it strangely comforting. She actively decided to give the pondering a rest.

After a few moments of careful scrutiny, Willow whispered sleepily, “I do, you know.”

“I know, Will.”


	3. In the Red

The door groaned and bound on its hinges as it swung stubbornly in. Buffy poked her head inside. Scant light seeped into the grungy, rough wooden box of a room through murky windows shrouded with cobwebs. To make matters worse, racks of wine casks created blind spots on top of blind spots. Stalling to listen was the best she could do, but Willow spoiled that by pushing past her. _Caution meet Willow. Willow this is, uh…yeah, I don’t care either._

Buffy stepped inside and shut the door. _Why’d I let her talk me into coming back here?_ “This place is givin’ me a serious wiggins, Will. I hope you know that,” she whispered.

Footprints marred the thick layer of dust that carpeted the floor. She followed the trail to where Willow stood at the point traffic had veered right to go between the racks. At the end of the aisle the disturbed area widened, outlining the dark stain where Willow had lain.

“See that?” Willow replied, gesturing to the obvious. “Me, here, now…not exactly—” She glanced anxiously around the room. “It’s a necklace with a blue stone. Be careful not to step on it or— _”_

“Yeah, I know,” Buffy whispered. “I heard you the first ten times. Xander’ll come back along with heaps of other sins we buried in wishes.” _What I want to know is what makes her think the necklace might be here? I thought Tara was the one of the three of us who had the good sense to scram while the scramming was good. She wouldn’t just accidentally drop her power center on the way out the door. And if one of our intrepid heroes had somehow mysteriously, magically snagged it, she’d’ve—and they’d’ve—_

 _I can’t even begin to imagine why they’d be more interested in it than—_

 _But with the Q and A being all Q and no A, all I’ve got is diddly with a side of squat. Yeah, and y’know what? It doesn’t have to make sense. Playing along…_

 _And of course, Will’s just hanging out near the door, so…_ Buffy started down the aisle. _‘Necklace,’ ‘blue stone,’ ‘don’t step on it’…check._ _If it’s gonna be anywhere, it should be around the trapdoor. That’s the only place I can see it accidentally snagging on something and getting lost. All I have to do is get past…_

Where the rack ended, she cut to the left, choosing the shortest path between two points. She couldn’t bring herself to step anywhere near where Willow had fallen and it was so close. But there wasn’t any more wiggle room between the crap at the end of the aisle and the stain either. She had a choice: move a stack of barrels or…

As she looked down to watch her feet, she saw that humans weren’t the only ones drawn to the spot. Rat tracks littered the floor around it. Dust on blood and blood on dust. When the corner of the rack brushed her butt, it took all of her resolve not to turn around and ‘kill’ it. Her stomach tied in knots. _Guess I can’t really say that I blame her._

Once past the remaining ickyness, she set off to put some distance between her and it. A dozen or so hasty strides later she reached the corner with the trapdoor. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling stupid the moment she did. Of course, Willow was nowhere to be seen, but from the absence of a loud creak, Buffy knew that the door hadn’t opened, so she had to still be around. “He was such a sweet guy,” she said, slathering on the sarcasm. “I miss him.” _Like I miss being flayed._

Scraping from the other side of the room caused her pause. She considered backtracking to check, but it stopped and a distracted Willow mumbled, “Yeah, there’s nothing more tedious than a prick with a tiny dick and an ego to compensate. Add that jacket and he wasn’t long for this world.”

“I hear ya,” Buffy mumbled. As meaningless retorts went, it was solid, but she couldn’t have cared less. She was back on task and she’d noticed something. All of the footprints led to and from the central aisle, except for one set. They were the right size and shape too. Just from the modest heels it was obvious they were Tara’s. What didn’t make sense was where they went. They led off toward a dead end where the building stepped out, but the racks of casks were lined up straight. _She went behind the row. To what?_

 _To tip it over, maybe? Squish the Scoobs. That’s not a bad plan. And vengeance demons can be scary strong, so…_

As she turned to retrace Tara’s steps, a squeal cut through the silence, followed by frantic screeching. Buffy faced the source of the ruckus, debating what if anything to do about it. _Now she’s catching rats? I swear she isn’t getting any saner._

“It’s okay,” Willow said. The floor creaked. “Don’t wig.” She stopped. Wherever she was going she must’ve gotten there. “Oh, and nice job by the way. I never said that, but—”

Distracted, Buffy replied, “Huh?” A rumpled pile of peachy-pink cloth at the end of the dead end aisle held her interest. It couldn’t have been more out of place. She hadn’t seen it at first glance because of the window before it. The moonlight that pooled on the floor in front of the cloth was so much brighter and more attention-grabby.

She imagined Tara standing in the light stripping. _That much fits. Sort of. In one respect. Tara’s about as modest as Will. But considering what went down that night…_

The door opened as Buffy went to investigate. _Yeah, and it’d be totally out of character because Tara was such a paragon of virtuous and rational behavior._

“Figuring out what that bastard was up to.” Willow’s voice was crisp and clear, but faint. _She must be having a look out front._

 _Oh. Invisibility maybe? The Invisible Man was never invisible with his clothes on. Maybe it was something like that. Huh. Yeah._ “Y’know how it is…perspective usually comes with distance,” Buffy said, stooping down to pick up what was clearly now a blouse, lying atop a full outfit of clothing. “It wasn’t rocket science. Just scar tissue.” The necklace hit the floor when she gave the blouse a shake. _Yahtzee. Which begs the question:_ “Hey, Will, any clue why, when we were getting our asses handed to us, Tara decided to get naked?”

Of course, it was pointless—all of it—every word she said was lost in the mad dash Willow made to join her. And Buffy had the necklace in hand and was on her way back before Willow even made it around the corner. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, cautiously slipping past both Willow and the grossness.

“Would you mind if I held on to that?” Willow asked as she fell into step behind Buffy.

Buffy didn’t even acknowledge her. The black and white spotted rat Willow had in her hand didn’t exactly lend to her credibility _. Whatever. I’m sure she has a reason. She usually does. They’re rarely ever necessarily anything I see as sane, but—_

Putting several miles of blacktop between them and this place was the only thing Buffy cared about. She made a beeline for the car, opened the door, pulled her keys from her pocket and hopped inside. The one thing she did that wasn’t about making an immediate and hasty retreat was stash the necklace in the console. She already had the engine running when Willow opened the passenger door.

She expected the silly witch to get in with or without her new pet. When Willow bent down and pulled the lever to fold her seat forward instead, Buffy took a stab at why, “I don’t think we really have anything to put him in.”

Willow mumbled, “She’s not a ‘him’,” as she began snooping through the shopping bags. Like it mattered.

 _Okay, Good to know. I wonder when I was gonna get to add ‘lifting the legs of rodents to determine their gender’ to the list of Willow’s bizarre behaviors. She was really missing that one. Nice to be able to check it off._ Hearing cardboard scrape was the final straw. _Now she’s unpacking? Seriously?_ The temptation to just dump the clutch was almost too much. “Can we go?” Buffy asked.

“Hold your horses. I need to do something,” Willow replied as she extracted herself from the car. The wineglass she’d located glinted in the moonlight as she turned to lean against the car. Moments later the rat squealed.

 _Jesus Christ! That’s what this is all about. She’s stopping for a snack? **Really**?_

As Buffy got out of the car, Willow whispered something. It was almost obscured by the rumbling engine, but Buffy was sure she’d heard Tara’s name. Her brow furrowed. _What the hell?_ “Did you say something about Tara?” she asked.

Willow whispered, “Tara…” holding her hand up to display the corpse “…the witch ratted her.” Her face was all lumpy, bumpy, fangy again when she turned toward Buffy. _She has like zero control._ But whatever finesse Willow lacked as a vampire, she more than made up for as a witch. She cast the rat over her shoulder. The faint tinkle of shattering glass sent chills down Buffy’s spine. She wanted to go look, but the truth was right in front of her. Willow’s hair was black again. _And just think of all the money she’s saving on Miss Clairol._

Buffy rolled her eyes to mask the grimace. “That’s wrong on so many levels,” she said, plastering on a grin. “Keep it up and we’ll be in the height of Victorian fashion in no time.” _Part of me wants to think ‘poor Tara.’ But I’m not gonna. She was just plain scary._

There was a grin on Willow’s face too when she tipped the wineglass up to take a sip. _Crazy, sadistic bitch or not, I’m pretty sure it isn’t a good sign that Will can keep a sense of humor about slaughtering and shattering someone she was with for almost four years._ “I thought you loved Tara,” Buffy said.

“I loved fucking Tara,” Willow replied with utter dispassion. “Love’s not the same as sex. Tara was a lot of fun in bed. She’d literally do anything I asked. She was a useful tool to me too.” Her coy smile might’ve been endearing at any other time, but alongside ridges, pointy teeth and creative homicide it was creepy. “The only one I ever gave a rat’s ass about was _you_.” Draining the wineglass, she whipped it at the ground, saying, “Mazel tov.”

Buffy snapped, “Hey! That was—” cutting off when the witch put in, “Really nice crystal.”

Willow got into the car. “Gimme a break, okay?” she said. “I’m mourning.” Her door swung shut. “Despite the strangeness, part of me is still Jewish. And we like to break shit on special occasions.”

 _Yeah, I may be a little naïve about that sort of thing, but ‘mourning’ my ass. ‘Mazel tov,’ that’s a ‘happy’ thing._

When Buffy got into the car, Willow had the console open. She managed to get an, “Uh,” in edgewise before Willow put the necklace on. _Great._ _I’m not sure what D’Hoffryn looks for in a girl, but that’s wigsome._ A moment passed and nothing went kaboom, so Buffy put the car in gear. She checked the rear view for the dozenth time. _I keep expecting him to pop into the back seat. Not that there’s room._

 _Maybe vamps can’t be vengeance demons? We’re already pretty much among the fucked, so…_

Getting the car moving without creating rain o’ gravel was tricky. Despite letting the clutch out slowly, she failed miserably. But that didn’t much matter because they were moving.

 _What I do know is: add vengeance demon to Will’s resume and she’d make Tara look like _Phoebe Buffay_. And when I wished him away, Tara made Xander-tartare without a second thought. No muss, no fuss, nothing fancy…just so much ground—_

The witch broke her train of thought. “So, remind me again, why? This thing’s not exactly subtle.”

Buffy stammered, “Huh?” _I thought it was funny at the time. But now? Not so much._

“The car,” Willow said with a snicker.

Buffy exclaimed, “Oh! I like it,” but she quickly lost patience when Willow glared at her. “And you liked the banger and his girl. Remember? We compromised.”

“Buffy, it’s red and it has a huge phoenix on the hood,” Willow commented dryly.  
             
“Yeah, and four hundred and fifty-five cubic inches of fun under the hood,” Buffy noted, referencing the tag on the scoopy thing sticking out of the hood. _At least I assume that’s what that means._ “I’m just not sure what SD stands for.” She gave up on slow. The car didn’t like it. A smirk plastered across her face as she slid it sideways out onto the highway. Through the onslaught of shrieking tires and roaring engine, she steered and counter-steered and counter-steered again to bring it back. Once things were under control, she said, “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind the hood so much when you were draped across it.”

It surprised her when Willow replied, “Shiny Dick.” Buffy tried, but couldn’t get a ‘what’ in edgewise. The witch spoke right over her. “That’s what that means. This was a replacement for what he lacked ‘under the hood.’ Now his girlfriend…” she planted a heel on the dash “…she was sweet.” She groaned, interrupting her pointless monologue.

Buffy glanced at the passenger seat. Willow’s hand was nestled between her thighs. _Christ! Doesn’t she ever come up for air?_

Snickering, Willow purred seductively, “I considered asking if I could keep her. Good pets are hard to find.”

 _That does it!_ Buffy cut in with a sharp, “No,” as she ignored the tawdry show going on across the console. The speedometer needle was flirting with ninety. Actually concentrating on the road was the better choice. _Will can act like a slut if she wants. That’s fine._ The engine went from making its happy ‘machine-gunny’ sounds to glubbing, coughing and sputtering when she let off the throttle. There was a corner coming up and going into it that fast would be a mistake. _It’s not-so-much her with the scissors and the running and the potential for self-stabbing that concerns me, it’s the other guy she might run into along the—_

“Bronze?” Willow asked.

Buffy didn’t need to look to see the eye roll. It was plain from the witch’s tone. “Sure. Why not? Maybe we’ll get lucky and one of our girls will develop a case of the stupids,” she replied, downshifting with a sharp flick of her wrist.

“It’s always business with you,” Willow chided. “Lighten up. I wanna dance.”

Pitching the car into the corner, she replied, “I can do both.” Her voice picked up a trace of tension as things got hairy. “In fact, as green as these girls are gonna be, I bet I can do both at once.” The tire-shredding drama finally ended without a crash. _I don’t get it. I was only doing fifty. I mean, tight corner, yeah, but that’s never been any sweat before. In this thing it was like wrestling an alligator._

She glanced at her counterpart. Willow had shifted in her seat, but still somehow looked absolutely enthralled. “Oh, now you’re just turning me on,” she purred. “I’d pay to see that.”

 _At least I didn’t disturb Lady Whacks-a-lot. That would’ve been a shame._ Buffy grumbled, “Careful or I’ll start calling you ‘Frog’.”

Willow arched her back and shot Buffy a dirty look. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said.

“Watch me,” Buffy countered. The sign announcing their return to Sunnydale came into view. _Home sweet Hell._ As they roared past it, she downshifted. Taking the first left, she plotted a route that kept them off the main thoroughfares. _She’s right about one thing: this car’s in no way subtle._ She eased off the gas, trying to quiet the engine. The old car loped just above idle. _It screams for attention. And attention’s the last thing we need. I’ll put it down tomorrow night._  

With a sigh she pulled into the alley beside the Bronze. Her passenger was still distracted. Buffy cleared her throat and announced loudly, “We’re here,” then rolled her eyes at the lack of response. _Total waste of breath. Oh well, she’ll come when she cums._  
   
There was one other car parked near the end of the alley. She pulled up behind it, shut the car off and got out. The doorman gave her one of those looks when she approached. _I’m so not interested, buddy._ She casually slipped him a fifty and said, “The dark haired chick too.” She nodded toward the car where she could plainly see the toe of one of Willow’s boots peeking up above the seat back. _If he likes me, he’s gonna love her. Hope for his sake the cash buys some discretion._

When the doorman acknowledged her with a nod, she made her way inside, surveying the crowd. She crossed the dance floor and located a table near the rear exit. It wasn’t long before Willow joined her. She watched with mixed amusement as the witch suggestively suckled her fingers. Her expression wasn’t too much different from the doorman’s. “Don’t you ever get enough?” Buffy asked, leaning in to speak over the music.

“Not yet. And trust me, I’ve tried,” Willow replied. Her expression hardened. “It’s the only thing that makes me feel human.”

Buffy was startled by her friend’s candor, but brushed it off. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a twenty and asked, “Get drinks?” holding the bill up. When Willow tried to take the money, Buffy gripped it tightly, directing, “Something fruity. It has to look like Kool Aid or—” _Friend? Is that—? Suppose its close enough. Near as I get._

She let go when Willow nodded and said, “’Kay,” turning to make her way through the crowd.

The witch barely made it to the bar before she was flirting again. Buffy placed her elbow on the table, appearing bored. This time it was a pretty, older woman that she recognized. _Another vengeance demon. Well, at least there’s a pattern. Maybe she’ll replace Tara and things will normal up. I just hope I get my drink first. I need it. Bad._

Moments later, Willow approached the table with a drink in her hand and the demon in tow. Leaning in, she set the cocktail in front of Buffy and said, “I’ll just be a sec.”

Buffy nodded and took a large gulp of what looked like orange juice. _Not bad. She remembered. Orange and grapefruit juice with a shot of vodka. No clue if it has a name, but it’s my drink._

Once the two were gone, she spotted something on the dance floor that piqued her interest. A female vampire was working the crowd. She moved gracefully from one partner to the next until she found someone she could toy with.

Waiting for the vamp to leave, she sipped her cocktail and gazed into the crowd. Her eyes didn’t follow the vamp when she led her victim out back.

Counting to ten, she rose from her seat and followed them outside. Predictably, the young vamp had taken her snack to the vacant alley behind the Bronze. As Buffy rounded the corner, a smile twisted her face. She silently moved behind the vamp while she fed. _This is gonna be fun._ Clearing her throat, she asked in a voice thick with mock surprise, “What do you think you’re doing with my boyfriend?”

As the vamp swung around to meet the challenge, Buffy grabbed her by the throat. Making eye contact with the young man, she commanded, “Run.” He took the hint and moments later Buffy released the other vampire. Bounding backward to the center of the alley, she said, “Let’s dance,” motioning for her playmate to join her.

The first lunge came, predictable and sloppy. She sidestepped and said through a smile, “You lead.” A thud echoed her words.

The young vamp recovered from her spin into the wall and snarled. Buffy just grinned and folded her arms. _That’s right, get mad. The crappier you are, the more fun this’ll be for me._

Closing her eyes, she felt the muffed bass. It vibrated through the thin wall of the Bronze. As the music took hold, she anticipated her opponent’s next move. She swayed her hips while bending her upper body away from the amateurish kick. The air swirled around her face.

Her eyes snapped open. She narrowed them and growled, “You can do better,” gesturing for her opponent to bring it on. _Yeah, she’s a slayer. Not an ounce of style, but she’s fast. Like that means anything._

Buffy kept time with the music, moving with it as she maneuvered left. As her adversary tracked her, she clenched her fists and glowered. Smiling, Buffy said, “Keep it up. The Law of Averages says you’re bound to hit me sometime.” She flitted backward to center herself in the alley again.  

The young vamp pursued, but Buffy just danced around her. Watching for clues, she focused on her rival’s shoulders and hips. All the signs were there. She didn’t try to hide anything. It was easy to judge exactly where she was headed. And wherever that was, was where Buffy wasn’t.

Frustrated by a dozen near misses, the inexperienced vamp sprung. As she flew past her target and crashed into the dumpster, Buffy just danced. _I can’t watch much more of this. It’s just wrong._

All smiles and giggles, she poured on the attitude just to piss the other vamp off.

It worked. The young vamp charged again. It was pointless. She missed Buffy by a mile. _Y’know what they say, ‘all good things—’ Even if they aren’t all that good._

Without warning, Buffy stopped. Her playmate threw a hard right hook. Buffy snatched her fist out the air. As she clamped down, bones crackled and splintered. Blood seeped between her fingers.

The vampire’s face rippled, returning to its human form. Buffy was startled by how young she actually was. Tears trickled down the girl’s cheeks. Her body trembled. Fear reflected in her eyes.

Buffy smiled sweetly and whispered, “It’ll be okay. Promise…” But her actions didn’t match her words. A loud crack issued from the girl’s shoulder as Buffy wrenched her arm behind her back. Poor little thing cried out, begging for Buffy to stop. She flailed wildly, desperate to escape. Buffy took hold of her head, tilted it to the side and finished her thought. “…I’ll make it quick.”

She nuzzled the girl’s neck. It smelled cold and dead, but Buffy forced the change. Her face tingled. The blind terror that used to delight her only made her want to make good on her promise. _I owe her this much. If it wasn’t for me, she’d be at home snug in bed._

The first taste should’ve been like biting into a succulent piece of fruit. Sweet juices should’ve spurted into her mouth. This was nothing like that. The blood, what little there was of it, tasted acrid. It didn’t pour from the wound. Buffy shifted her bite, tearing into the thrashing girl’s neck.

Buffy used her hand to stifle a scream threatened to give them away. Determined, she suckled the gashes, struggling to make the blood flow. It was thick and sluggish. Like molasses. Drinking it was like swallowing cold, molten copper. It made her stomach knot. She ignored that and concentrated on her goal: the kill.

As she fed, the girl grew listless. _It’s funny, with all the folklore—all those supposed experts—very few of them think of this and those who do are clueless._

 _How do you kill a vamp? The big three always come up, but no one ever mentions exsanguination. It doesn’t even make the list._

 _When I die, I want to go like this._

The girl’s skin turned dry and papery in her mouth. Buffy tightened her hold and the body in her arms cracked. _But that’s probably it. This is too kind. She’ll just go to sleep. I don’t think this is that much different for us than it is for them. It’s almost a human death. As close as we get._

 _I’ve only done this once before by accident. It freaked me out when he went poof. But it made total sense. Blood means the same to us as it does to them. Even more. Blood is life. Lose enough of it and you die. That’s the bottom line._

Buffy drew in one last, sluggish mouthful and her victim turned to ash. _Whatever._ _She deserved to die like one of them. Or close enough._  

She spat and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Glancing back toward the club, she spied Willow. Their eyes met.

Willow approached, holding a crisp one hundred dollar bill out. “That was beautiful,” she said.

Accepting the money—like it mattered—Buffy smirked and winked at the witch. As her face shifted, turning human, she said, “Thanks,” and feigned a shallow curtsey. “You’re not so bad yourself, y’know?” Entwining her fingers with Willow’s, she towed the witch back into the Bronze. The assault of flashing lights and loud music was a little too much. Her face went hot. She pushed the nasty feeling aside in favor of small talk. “So how was your date?”

“Delicious.” A deceptively sweet smile played at the corners of the witch’s mouth. “Let’s dance.” Her brow furrowed. She grew nervous and stammered, “I mean, really dance. Not like—well don’t—”

Buffy’s stomach cramped. Ignoring it, she smiled and replied, “I think I can handle that.” But her tummy wasn’t having any of it. When it heaved again, she put her finger up and said, “In a sec.”

“Alright,” Willow replied with a nod.

Buffy slipped into the bathroom. Checking the stalls, she picked the least scary of the bunch. Mercifully, the one with the corpse in it wouldn’t even open.

Sickness gripped her. She shut the door and slumped to her knees. Smells of human filth made it that much easier. She leaned forward and purged. The blood came up like clotted cream. It splashed into the toilet. Her sickness built. She closed her eyes, praying it would stop.

The door opened, but she barely noticed. A gentle hand rested on her back. “Oh, sweetie,” Willow whispered, reaching down to coil Buffy’s hair around her hand.

Tears welled up in Buffy’s eyes. It was reflexive. _This must be my body’s way of saying, ‘that was dumb.’ It could’ve picked a nicer—_ She retched one final time, steeling her resolve. _But I’m still in charge._ She wiped her mouth with her hand, stood up and flushed the toilet. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted as she pushed past Willow. Her stomach was still queasy, but better.

She stopped at the sink to wash up. Cupping her hands under the faucet, she splashed her face and rinsed the lingering metallic taste from her mouth. When she was satisfied that she wasn’t a total wreck, she reclaimed the witch’s hand and declared, “Well, I feel a thousand times better. Now, how ’bout that dance?”

Willow smiled. “I’m all yours.”

Buffy took Willow by the hand, leading her to the dance floor. She draped her arms loosely around the witch’s neck and swayed her hips to the music. A smile lit her face when Willow took hold of her waist without setting off the heebie-jeebies. Willow naturally fell into the rhythm of the music. _Huh, she isn’t half bad._ “When’d you learn how to dance, Will?” Buffy asked.

Willow whispered, “A long time ago.”

The next song came too soon. It was melodic and a little too coupley. As Buffy slowed, the witch moved closer, firming her embrace. It felt alright. Buffy resigned herself to just go with it. She met Willow’s gaze and held it.

A few moments drifted lazily by and Buffy rested her cheek on her friend’s shoulder. Fingers laced through her hair, caressing her scalp. Contented, she shut her eyes. _No, this isn’t at all weird._

 _I mean, it’s really good, nice even, but anytime I get this relaxed, something blows up…usually for the sake of trying to take me with it. Guess it’s understandable that I’m a little apprehensive._

Willow lifted her head. Their lips touched once and she pulled away. Buffy very nearly recoiled, but the touch was so timid. And Willow’s expression said ‘was that okay?’

 _Who are you? And what have you done with my Willow?_

Willow kissed her again. _I guess I kind of expected this. But not like this. Not at all. All of the other times she’s touched me she’s been so rough. There’s this demanding thing. This sense of urgency. Hunger. This is in no way the same. If it was, I’d be halfway down the block by now._  

 _Tenderness?_

Willow’s touch was so subtle and supple it made Buffy tingle…and not in the bad way. Like sunlight kissing the morning dew away. She melted into it and everything else vanished.

Lost.

She wasn’t sure how or why, but the kiss deepened. Who changed it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the quality hadn’t changed. Her tongue caressed Willow’s. Each movement mirrored like they were connected. It was gentle, soothing… _even loving_ , she imagined. There was a strange sort of rightness to it.

 _Weird._

The next song started. Buffy wouldn’t have noticed if Willow hadn’t withdrawn. _’Kay, so…keeping up and not flipping out._ She met the witch’s gaze, taken aback when the eyes that stared back at her were crisp and bright green. The hair that fell around Willow’s face had turned red and she was smiling, not wolfishly as Buffy expected, but demurely and sweetly.

As soon as the song ended, Buffy pulled away from the witch and said, “I need some air.” Grabbing Willow’s hand, she dragged her along. The moment she hit the door, she began to search for her smokes. “Grrr…in the car,” she grumbled and took off toward it. Opening the door, she located her cigarettes and lighter in the console.

When she climbed out of the car with a lit cigarette in her mouth, Willow teased, “Air, huh?”

“What?” Buffy said, feigning innocence. She slammed the car door shut with her hip and reached for the witch’s hand. “Let’s wander around for a bit. See if we can’t play hero.” Pocketing her cigarettes, she started off down the block with Willow in tow. “Maybe save a damsel in distress or something.” She snickered. “It’ll be funny. Of course, the saving means violence and brutal killing which is much more my speed,” she concluded with a smirk.

“’Kay, I’m in.” Keeping pace, Willow asked, “Can I have the damsel?”

With a sideways glance, Buffy took in the evil grin on the witch’s face and rolled her eyes. She exclaimed, “Don’t you ever—?” falling flat because it was just so pointless to ask. “No, no, you don’t.” Hanging her head, she shook it. “Y’know what? Never mind.” When she looked up, there was a smirk on her face. “No, you can’t have the damsel. The idea’s to make with the big rescue. Eating the rescuee—not so much a part of the plan.”

“You take all the fun outta being bad.” Willow giggled.

Buffy said through a sign, “Yeah, _yeah_ …I know. I’m such a drag.” She shook her head and chuckled.

Willow joined in, but their laughter was short lived. Soon they walked together silently taking in their surroundings.

It was a warm spring night. The air might’ve even have smelled good if it weren’t for all the trash that littered the back alleys. Dilapidated buildings towered around them. Only a few incandescent bulbs lit their path. And this was all perfectly normal. _Just another creeptastic night on the bad side of town._

What concerned Buffy was the quiet. Something was up. And not having a clue what it was made her nervous.

They travelled several blocks before Willow asked, “What just happened back there?”

“I wish I knew, but I’m still working on that myself,” Buffy replied. “I will tell you that I won’t be one of your fucks. _Ever_.” _Leave it to her to know just how to make things worse._ Anxiety took its toll. Unconsciously, she sped up.

“I don’t want that,” Willow said. The sincerity in her tone was flabbergasting. “It’s weird. I feel human when I’m with you. Sex doesn’t matter. Not with that.”

Buffy gave the witch a sidelong glance. Willow’s brow was knit. _She’s as confused as I am._

The little bit of crappy light faded a few blocks up. Buffy peered into the distance. She wasn’t even sure where they were going. She just needed to go. Increasing the pace seemed pointless, but she did and Willow kept up.

Finally, Willow spoke again. “Not with _us,_ like that. That’s sort of the point. It’s different. For the first time in a long time I feel alright. The thing that’s totally fucking with me is that you were the one who—”

Buffy’s patience ran out just like that. “Who made you a monster?” She flipped her cigarette away and stopped, but she didn’t let go. Willow swung around to face her. Taking both of her hands, Buffy made eye contact and said, “I dunno either, Will. It must be what was missing. Guess instead of cursing whoever, I should think about sending them a card.” She shrugged. “Whatever. Point is, if you don’t look for anything more than what this is, we’ll see where it goes.”

Sounding less than certain, Willow replied, “Alright,” and restlessly averted her eyes by looking down. “Oh, and the ‘teasing’ thing. I’m really sorry.”

Buffy slouched to force eye contact and gently lifted Willow’s chin. When she had the witch’s attention, she said, “Be sorry for last night and we’re good. Anything before that was a gimme.” She grinned. It was a kind gesture, full of sympathy. And completely alien to her. _I must be losing my mind. But there’s just so much. I’m on autopilot. Reacting. Not thinking. If I think, this could all fall apart. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want that._  

Willow smiled sheepishly, gazing down at their joined hands as she mumbled, “I was pretty sure you were screwing with me last night. It took me awhile to catch on. I had no idea what was up at first. You were acting so weird. And when I finally figured it out, I still didn’t know what it meant—what it might mean to _you_. How could I? My soul’s been dead for years.”

A pang of guilt crept up. Buffy shoved it aside. _Fucking annoying._ She ignored the last few things Willow said and focused on herself. It was easier. “Me either,” she mumbled. “I still don’t. If you figure it out…”

Willow changed tack, adding a sarcastic, “Besides, I was starved and that crap you gave me was half-dead and full of chemicals.”

 _Yeah, I know. It’s weird. I’ve tried it all now. Animal blood, demon, vamp...it’s all the same. I feel like I’m dying. And that’s if I can even keep it down. Last night was the first time I’ve felt good in over a week. I’m glad she forced the rethink. I’m just not sure—_

Willow hung her head. “Umm,” she whispered. “Waking up next to you was nice. Again, maybe? I promise I’ll be good.”

Grinning, Buffy teased, “You? Good? I’m _so_ in, just to see that.” Releasing the witch’s hands, she lit another stick of artificial patience. “Let’s get going. I wanna swing through a couple cemeteries. Who knows? This whole ‘playing slayer’ thing might be amusing.”


	4. After the Flesh

Willow shambled along next to Buffy with her arms tucked tightly against her chest. Keeping up, but only just, she watched her feet as she went. Parts of her were colder than parts of her had any right to get. Her jaw was set to stop her teeth from chattering.

A cast off soda can was in her path. Without missing a beat she kicked it, sending it tumbling ‘ratta-tat-tat’ down the alley. She smiled, but Buffy had already let out a ‘harrumph’ of a sigh, so Willow mumbled, “Sorry.” Her smile faded to the faintest of grins. _But that was fun. I always used to mess that up. I’d miss or hit and the can would go crunch and it’d never spin like that._

Buffy replied, “It’s okay. This was a total bust…” her brow crinkled “…and more than a little bit creepy.”

“Now that you mention it, it was a bit,” Willow replied innocently, like it hadn’t dawned on her ages ago that if they ran into another vamp, chances were it’d be one of ‘the boys,’ or a friend of…or a friend of a friend of one of ‘the boys.’ Besides the cold, that was the thing most on her mind and she was grateful for the peace.

The soda can was getting closer. She considered going out of her way to kick it again. _Nah._ She sighed. _That’d just miff the boss lady off._

 _What with all that’s happened, their numbers have dwindled. Like I care. There’s no love lost between me and ‘the boys.’ But nothing makes vamps antsier than dwindling numbers. We took a bunch of them with us to the vineyard. The Scoobs didn’t just waltz in the door. Which means more ‘dwindling.’ Something tells me that might make ‘the boys’ curious, if not downright suspicious. Suspicious enough to go looking for answers. And she who’s lead is not to be questioned said ‘hotel,’ so my guess: she isn’t ready to cope with that yet._

 _Being spotted might not be good. I just don’t think that occurred to her. So, yeah, granted, the silence is weird, but not unwelcome in my book._

They came around a corner and Willow looked up. Seeing the sign for The Bronze caught her off-guard. She felt silly for not having noticed how close they were. _Though, in my defense, dark, dingy, dilapidated, debris laden alleys all look—uh…the same._ She wrinkled her nose. _No, ‘no different.’ They all look ‘no different.’ And that much alliteration makes my brain feel mushy._

“The only time it gets this quiet is when something’s up,” Buffy called over her shoulder as she took off toward the car. “And I don’t think that ‘something’ was one doe-eyed little vamp, no matter how quick she was. It just doesn’t fit.”

 _She’s right. I hadn’t considered that._ Based on the ground they’d covered, Willow surmised, _we were out there for about an hour._ Turning to slip between the grungy tin wall and the car, she put a hand on the passenger door handle, but paused without opening it. _Total signs of life: one dog and the five that answered, a few cars, Chip and Dale were the only things foraging in the graveyard. At least I think that’s what that was. There was a little too much ‘it’s just the wind’ going on for me to be sure._ Gusts of wind that cut through her dead body like a knife. _Wind that probably wasn’t that cold, but made it impossible to keep a thought warm._

Buffy met her gaze across the car roof. She held it for only a moment, giving Willow a significant glance, then climbed inside. _Leave it to me to find something creepy comforting._

It took a little doing for Willow to get in. She had to wiggle past the car door. And given Buffy’s affection for shiny red things, she didn’t want to grind the door into the wall. She was past ready to go and twiddling her fingers by the time Willow worked her way through her contortionist act. “You’d think we would’ve run into Faith,” she said. “We walked her normal beat. Stupid rent-a-cop.”

Willow was just happy to be in out of the wind. Leaning forward, she rubbed her arms as she replied, “I know it doesn’t explain the last week, but with you here, she could afford to be lazy. You kind of took care of anything nasty. And she couldn’t touch you, so…” _I was amazed she showed at the vineyard. That was gutsy. But I’d rather not bring it up. We’ve talked about that enough for now…and forever._

Buffy was too wrapped up to notice the ‘I’m freezing’ dance in the next seat. “She tried. It always ended badly—” a grin made the little blond look positively evil “—for her.” She giggled. “I think we should go visit Faith tomorrow. Maybe buy her some flowers?”

As the car lumbered noisily forward to the end of the alley, Willow said through a snicker, “I’d love to see her face.” Mischief played at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “Oh! How ’bout a dozen white roses?”

“That’s good,” Buffy replied, “ _Classy_ ,” giggling as she turned the car. “Faith would shit herself.”

Willow didn’t bother to reply. _I’m still freezing. Moving around makes it better, but the askance glances are a bit too much._ Closing her eyes, she reached out, leeching heat from stuff around her. _So yeah…something else, anything else…_

 _There is something else. Something she’s not saying. That’s exactly it. I know Buffy. She wants to check up on the opposition, but—_

 _And I do mean a great big, huge **but** —_

 _Umm…_

 _There’s nothing huge about her butt._

Willow choked down the giggle before Buffy noticed. _Or maybe she did, but she isn’t saying anything?_

 _Probably. Good thing too ’cause how would I reply? I sure don’t want to ask her why she’s so interested in Faith. Which leaves me with, ‘You’ve got a great ass?’_

 _Yeah, that’d go over well._

Willow started to tingle from the inside out. It was the strangest feeling. But she was getting warmer too, so she dismissed the ickiness as a fluke. The tingling gradually grew stronger and harder to ignore. Finally, it turned into burning. The faintest hint of charred flesh tinged in the air. _Oh!_

 _Oh, that’s bad!_

Her eyes snapped open. Her quest for warmth went bu-bye. _Uh…_

 _That was weird._ She was shaking like a leaf and it wasn’t from the cold. It felt like—

Of all of the things Willow associated with big oopses, the only ones affecting her were the strange heavy, warm, tingly pressure in her head and the jitters. _That, and I’m breathing like I’m dying. How pointless is that?_ She stopped. _But my heart should be going pitter pat. My mouth should be pasty. My face should be flushed. It’s really messed up that what I don’t feel is screwing with me too._  

Buffy had her window down. _She didn’t notice. Or if she did—again with the silence._

They were about halfway to the hotel. Willow watched the suburban landscape drift past as she struggled to stifle her trembling. It was worse. There was something desperate about the cold now that it was something she couldn’t control.

Gritting her teeth, she started to shut her eyes, but the faint sound of Buffy’s voice grabbed her attention. “It gets better.” She reached over to switch on the heater. “Or maybe not better. But you get used to it.”

The warm air was wonderful. Willow felt silly again for not thinking of something so simple, but she’d been a wee bit distracted by nearly barbequing herself. It took a few moments to relax, but she got over the flub and shut her eyes. _Where was I? Uh…_

 _Buffy’s cute little tushie?_

Willow snickered. _No, good subject, but—_ “Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s no big,” Buffy replied, “I do get it, y’know?”

 _I’m honestly not sure she does. ‘Get it,’ that is._ Still, Willow gave a pointless, placating nod. _Well, the ‘playing popsicle’ thing I’m sure she gets, but—_

 _Buffy wouldn’t go out of her way to check up on Faith. Not the Buffy I know. She’d totally have some minion call around if Faith went missing. It’d be more about punishing the one that dared touch her slayer than anything to do with Faith._

The warm air blowing in her face made Willow’s eyes flutter. _Faith’s her property._ She gave up and let them drift shut again. _Just like I am. I never worried about anyone touching me. They all knew if they did, she’d find creative new ways to dissect them._

The old car grumbled. They were slowing down. Willow opened her eyes in time to see the driveway of the hotel.

Buffy stopped the car and pulled the parking brake. Leaving it to idle under the hotel’s porte cochère, she rolled up her window and got out. As she walked away, she motioned for Willow to stay. _Thing is, I’m not even sure she’s sure. Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s not. She’s running without a compass. And that’s so not like her. It was always about the plan with her._

 _She’d never hurt herself over some random stranger. Hell, she wouldn’t hurt herself for someone she needed. Whether she gave a shit about them or not was never even a question. She didn’t. It was a question of usefulness._

 _But she did tonight. I watched it. She hurt herself over some girl she didn’t even know and didn’t have any use for. And it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen._

It was getting a little too hot. _Nice. It works both ways. Figures._ Willow reached for the lever to turn the heater down. _I’m not even sure why she did it. If she knew the blood would make her sick, why didn’t she stop? Maybe it was some foolish sense of nobility?_

 _And again with the nobility making me nervous. That’s gotta be like a sign of the apocalypse or something. The sun rises in the west, the seas turn to blood—pestilence and famine—all locusts and toads—and Buffy gets charitable._ Her attempt to stifle a snicker resulted in a snort. It was very ladylike. She rolled her eyes. _That’s somewhere between ludicrous and amazingly, heartwarmingly hopeful and **wow.** Which places it pretty firmly in the totally creepy and wig-some department. At least for now._

 _Or maybe it wasn’t creepy at all. It might’ve been some vamp thing I don’t get. Territorial pissings. Her sharing the intimacy of the kill or…hell, I dunno…vampires are a complete mystery to me._

 _Which is just too funny, considering._

 _All I do know is the way she moved was so sensual, but at the same time it was like something from a movie. Or a comic. Actually, not to wear out the theme, but it was sort of like that weird guy from ‘Interview’: ‘The Trickster.’ Bursts of speed like nothing I’ve ever seen coupled with dance. But where he was just an idiot, she was ungodly sexy._

 _That’s something else I don’t think she gets. Just how unbelievably—_

The door opened and Buffy slid into the driver’s seat. Willow fixated on her profile as the car began to move.

 _Sexy._

When the car came to a stop, Willow got out, folded her seat forward and leaned in to collect her share of their belongings from the backseat. She glanced at Buffy and shut the door with her hip.

 _But so damned young._

Follow the Leader was never a game Willow minded playing with Buffy, but she didn’t play it very well. As she understood the rules, sticking close to the leader was as important as doing everything they did. _But the view’s so much better with a little distance and mimicking Buffy—_

 _Uh…_

 _Who am I kidding? I fell for her years ago. She may still look like a trampy little mall rat, but—reality check—she’s older than me. She just got stuck in time sooner._

 _The pedophilic vibe is totally tetchy. Let’s face it. Having a conscience might be entertaining, but—_

 _Yeah…just look at that butt._

Stopping at the end of a long, boring, beige hallway, Buffy took the keycard from her pocket, opened the door and disappeared into the room.

Willow was freezing again the moment she entered what was just another generic hotel room. She paused in the entry to put the shopping bags in the closet. It was the bed with its three-hundred thread count, papery sheets and thin, plasticy bed spread she was actually interested in. _The idea that I might get warm in that thing is laughable, but I have to try._ The real problem was that some moron had left the air conditioner on. She took a quick detour in her trip across the room to remedy that. The cold air blowing on her was almost more than she could stand.

Buffy was busy putting things away in the kitchenette when a shivering Willow sat down in one of the two accent chairs along the far wall. _Getting naked to get warm might just be the silliest thing ever, especially in this place, but next to sleeping in a corset, it seems positively rational._ She reached between her shoulders to loosen the laces.

Buffy stepped around the corner to stash the empty cooler in the closet. As she turned back the way she’d come, she said, “We’re either gonna have to find a suck-house…” briefly meeting Willow’s eyes “…or raid the hospital if this keeps up.” She picked up the bag of blood she’d left out and glanced over her shoulder to add, “I dunno about you, but I think this shit’s better than suck-house any day.”

 _Like I’d know._ Willow shrugged, offering a noncommittal, “Whatever works for you,” as she unhooked the front of her top. “I could probably live on pig’s blood, but it might make me crazy.”

Buffy turned around. Leaning casually back against the counter, she asked, “Is that your way of saying you’re in?” Obviously stressed over making her meaning completely clear, she amended, “I mean, like, _really—_ for wherever this takes us?” She shook her head. The look said she felt stupid for even asking. She turned away to pour the contents of the bag into a wineglass and put it in the microwave to warm.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Willow replied as she let her corset fall into the chair behind her and continued to undress. “I really didn’t think of it that way. But now that you said it, I’m not sure I’d know what to do without you. If you need me to be something else, I changed once for you. I can try to do it again.” There was a moment of conflict where she considered straightening up the pile of clothes. It didn’t last. The need to be warm won out. She slid under the covers, wishing there were more.

The microwave beeped and Buffy removed her dinner. It took three steps for her to reach the bed. She sat down on its edge. Willow was getting nervous again in that hollow vampy way. Any time Buffy looked this serious it never went well. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, Willow feigned a carefree attitude by rolling onto her side and cupping her head in her hand.

Buffy peered into her glass, swirling the liquid as she spoke. “If I could undo anything, that’d be my choice.” She paused to sip her supper. “But we both know how twisted up wishes can get, so let’s leave it and try to fix what’s left.” _Wow. That almost sounded like an apology. I don’t think—_

 _No, actually, I **know** she doesn’t apologize._

There was nothing to say. Or if there was Willow was too dumbfounded to find it. She just watched intently as Buffy got up and made her way around the room to the empty chair, grateful for the brief stop she made to turn on the heat. Buffy lit a cigarette and quickly drank her dinner while she smoked. When the glass was empty, she stamped her cigarette out and went into the bathroom.

Willow shut her eyes and tried to think warm thoughts as she relaxed for sleep. She dozed, listening to the sound of running water, then the rustle of the drapes and the click of the door lock. Finally, Buffy approached the foot of the bed. “Ask me that question you asked last night,” she whispered.

Buffy hadn’t dressed. Her hair was freshly blown dry. All that she wore was a towel. She smelled like something spicy and floral that Willow couldn’t quite place. Trying to hold back the shock, she stammered a little before finally finding what she hoped was the right answer. “What happened to you?” Her mind raced. She rushed to fill in, “Is that the right one? Sorry, I hope that’s the right—” Flustered and struggling to compose herself, she fell flat.

“Will, I’m not gonna,” Buffy replied through a snicker. “I’m not even sure I can, so put your tongue back in your mouth and just let me—” Her amusement had a really short shelf-life. She shut her eyes. Her face twitched. The creases in it deepened as she bore down. “This feels like the right thing.” Her expression was pained when she blinked her eyes open. “But if I stop to think, I’ll probably come to my senses.” She dropped the towel and crawled onto the bed, lying down on her tummy on top of the blankets next to Willow. “I just want you to see. Touching might be easier if you have an idea.”

 _She wants me to touch her._ Willow’s dead heart might’ve skipped a beat. At least she had the light, airy feeling that always came from the flutter. Swallowing thickly, she sat up and dutifully traced a line down Buffy’s back and legs with her eyes. It was worse than she expected. She grew cold too. The scars weren’t much different than those of a severe burn victim. Thick, corded tissue covered only the areas that would be hidden by her clothes. _She was made. I sort of got it before, but seeing…_

 _This was done with great care._ Buffy rolled onto her back. _It’d have to be, ’cause if she was human at the time—and **scarring** , so she was—this much trauma could’ve easily killed her._

Not touching, Willow silently went over every mark as Buffy whispered, “I’ve only even been this way with Xander. And Luke trashing his jacket kind of wore the Keepsake Moments off of that one. That wasn’t me. He believed I was ‘behaving strangely.’ I told him I was fine and that Xander was a standup guy. Luke decided to test that theory and—well, you know the rest.”

Somewhere between Buffy’s ankles and chin, Willow’s brain was numb. She tried to recall what she’d been like at fifteen and imagine how she might’ve dealt with this. The overwhelming answer was ‘not as well.’

“I have no clue whether Xander ever said anything,” Buffy muttered. “But no one had the nerve to say anything around me. Good for them. It would’ve meant…”

 _This doesn’t change how I feel. It’s just—_

 _It’ll be more of a challenge, but what about us isn’t a challenge?_

Tenderly tracing a line of unblemished skin on Buffy’s stomach, Willow whispered, “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” _That’s the thing: she doesn’t. All she sees is what she can see when she looks down. And that’s monstrous to her, so she behaves accordingly. I mean, I get that there’d be anger over this. Lots and lots of anger. But one thing fed the other, making her what she is._

 _She’s isolated and she can’t see._

Trembling at the touch, Buffy grumbled, “With clothes? Yeah, I’ve got something I can use. It’s a tool, just like all the rest.” Willow met her gaze. _She can’t see how her eyes turn the most beautiful shade of blue-green when she’s turned on. Like now._

 _Strange…_

 _And they’re this amazing crisp, bright blue when she’s happy…or up to something. She does mischief really well. She gets these cute little dimples when she smiles._

 _The way she moves is just gorgeous. So graceful and confident. It’s like she doesn’t even have to think._

 _When she’s angry, her eyes look like steel._

 _She doesn’t get it._  

When Willow withdrew her hand, Buffy opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbows. She watched keenly as Willow scrutinized her.

 _I’m amazed she’s being so patient._ Willow grew bolder. Her attention lingered where she knew it shouldn’t. _Whoever did this mercifully skipped those parts. Though, I’m sure it’s ridiculous to think that any of this might’ve been a mercy._ It surprised her that Buffy allowed the intrusion. But it didn’t last. Her mouth watered. She held onto her own hands to keep them from wandering. _The way she smells is just—_

 _Bad!_

 _Not bad her, bad **me**. It’s just, she smells good. Too good. ’Kay, so…stopping now before she kills me._

Pulling the covers back, Willow gestured Buffy underneath and whispered, “This doesn’t matter. You’re still you.” Spooning against her back, Willow held tight. She placed her fingertips on an unmarred area of her partner’s stomach, tenderly caressing the supple skin. She let go when Buffy reached over to turn out the lamp.

Willow carefully repositioned her hands as Buffy settled in and began to murmur, “The thing you have to understand about me. Before this I was a lot like Cordelia Chase. Not that rich, just popular. Doing what we did—it was like…well, I dunno. But by then, I wasn’t feeling much, so…”

She claimed the hand Willow placed on her stomach, guiding it up between her breasts as she whispered, “This whole thing—feeling anything except rage—I’m not even sure how to deal. I’ve just been shoving things aside until I have time to figure them out. I do know I feel something. And that’s way different than…” Bringing Willow’s hand to her lips, she kissed it.

Borrowing her hand back, Willow swept the hair away from Buffy’s neck, gently kissing just under her ear. “We don’t have to talk about this.” She smiled when Buffy reclaimed her hand.

“No, you don’t get it,” she replied, “I want to. I need you to understand.” Her voice was delicate, but gravely. It sent a chill down Willow’s spine. “Hell, I may even need this. Maybe it’s some sorta perverse part of the ‘healing process,’ like those stupid books say. It’s gotta be better than going to eat a shrink.”

She turned onto her back. Willow followed her lead, resting her head on the curve of Buffy’s shoulder. Soft fingertips caressed Willow’s back, setting her at ease. “The comparison to Cordy’s totally right,” Buffy whispered. A tiny snuffle of a snicker prefaced her admission. “I was a cheerleader.”

The embarrassment was cute, _new_ and kind of funny. Willow grinned.

“It happened after a game,” Buffy said through a sigh. “We won. And of course, I was psyched. It’s hard to think that that was such a huge thing to me back then. I was waiting on a girl who was supposed to give me a lift.” Willow fixated on Buffy’s profile and watched as her expression grew progressively more detached. “I didn’t even see who nabbed me. She came up behind me and it was over. She knocked me out. The next thing I knew I was in a room. Chained up so tight I couldn’t move.”

It felt a little strange, like it was too forward, or too much, but Willow moved her hand to rest on Buffy’s hip. The damage there wasn’t nearly so bad. She expected Buffy to snap at her, or brush her hand away, but she was so lost in reflection she didn’t notice. “I opened my eyes and this pretty, little blonde was smiling at me. It confused me. She didn’t look like she could hurt a fly. But considering where I was—” Buffy cleared her throat. “She introduced herself as Darla.”

There was a pause. The slow rhythmic movement of Buffy’s hand against her back lulled Willow. Reflex had taken over. She listened closely to the sound of Buffy breathing. A tear trickled down the side of her face. It left a faint, cloudy trail on her pale skin. Suppressing the urge to offer comfort, Willow shut her eyes.

Eventually, Buffy’s thin voice resonated just above the ambient sounds. “She stepped aside and let me see the rest of the room. Everyone I ever loved was there. She’d staged a scene with the bodies for me. I screamed like a good victim should.” Her hand fell still against Willow’s back. “Then I stopped being a victim. I died that night. I haven’t cared for anyone since.” A breathy sigh filled the pause. “I’m not sure I can.”

During the lull that followed, Willow tried to imagine how that would be and found she couldn’t. _Maybe that’s a blessing. The truth is, all I really know about Buffy is what she’s told me. And that’s been scarcely little until now. I have no idea who these people even were—who might’ve mattered to her. Her mother and father maybe? But my cousin was raised by her grandmother, my great aunt. So, how can I know? It’s possible her family didn’t mean anything to her at all._

 _No, the real truth is that ‘who’ is an insignificant detail. I don’t need to know. ‘Dead people in the room’ is more than enough. Plenty. ‘Dead people that she cared for’ is too much. I’ve already established it took days. Probably more like weeks. And I’m gonna take a stab and say it wasn’t cold in that room. Vampires don’t exactly like meat lockers. It must’ve been—_

“She stared at me for a little while. As she did, her face changed,” Buffy whispered. “I’d never seen a vampire before. I was terrified and shaking so hard. But there was also this other thing in the background. This overwhelming rage. The first thing she did to me was what you’ve wanted to do the entire time we’ve known each other.”

Willow stammered, “I—”

But Buffy cut her off, “Though, to be fair, when we first met, you were too young to know what you wanted. That came later.” Her tone took on a bitter edge that made Willow’s skin crawl. “Sorry if I haven’t been exactly receptive.”

Willow wanted protest, but what could she say? She opened her eyes and focused on Buffy’s profile. There were no more tears. Buffy’s expression was hard, cold and dangerous. Fleeing would’ve been the smarter thing, but Willow forced herself to mumble, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Buffy replied. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I thought you did.”

 _This is horrible._

Just as Willow started to hope it was over, Buffy broke the silence with a snicker. “They say that first time’s supposed to be so special.”  The twisted mockery of a smile she wore was chilling. “I would’ve settled for doing it without my parents watching.” Even more disconcerting, the delicate timbre of her voice hadn’t changed. That and the implication of ‘dead eyes watching’ sent shivers down Willow’s spine.

The peace that followed was a blessing. She’d heard enough. What she wanted more than anything was to roll away and curl up into a ball. Instead, she tilted her head down. That was the closest thing to any real distance she was going to get. _Strange, I would’ve given anything for her to hold me like this last night or hundreds of nights before this. Now that she is—_

She almost leapt out of her skin when Buffy’s hand started to move again, but she bit back the impulse. Soon the soothing scritches and rubs had turned her to jelly. _I wonder how she learned how to touch. Most people learn by touching themselves. It seems like she’d be working at a deficit, but I guess there are still parts that are—_

“We’re all we’ve got now,” Buffy whispered. Placing her finger under Willow’s chin, she lifted until their eyes met. That was such a sweet thing to say it made Willow smile.

Buffy went on without missing a beat. “As far as I’m concerned, I own you.” All of the sweetness had been wrung from her voice. “You can fuck whoever you want, but you’re mine. And this…” her eyes narrowed “…this is _mine_.”

The change came so suddenly that Willow didn’t have time to process. She gasped when Buffy flung her onto her back. Her hands were wrenched over her head. She struggled to catch up as Buffy kissed her. All of the tenderness was gone. This was predatory, the kind of kiss that might accompany a brand. Willow knew better than to fight. She relaxed, allowing Buffy to have her way.

Truth was, in some part of Willow’s broken brain, this was like a fantasy. The flesh between her legs tingled and wept. She wanted nothing more than to crush her thigh against Buffy’s pussy. To raise the bar. To up the ante. To see where this would lead. Instead, she played submissive. When Buffy let go, she panted, “I always was.”

Buffy turned onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. A devilish smile curled the corners of her mouth. Her eyes trailed down Willow’s body. “Good,” she murmured.

Willow tried to catch her breath. Sexual heat hung heavy in the air. She would’ve given anything within her power for just one taste. The need was that strong. But there was nothing. _I could force her like I did last night. That’d end well. Otherwise, my only recourse is to wait this out. See where it goes._

 _I really am damaged. The fact that she’s so dangerous is a huge part of the uh—_

Movement came in a blur. Willow’s eyes refused to focus. She couldn’t track it, but she felt it. She was crushed flat onto the bed.

She squeaked.

Her arms wrenched over her head more violently than before. A hand closed over her wrists, pinning them together. It clamped down so tightly it hurt.

When Buffy’s other hand closed around her throat, Willow panicked. Buffy’s fingers flexed, strangling her scream away. Her glare was icy. “One more thing,” she snarled. “Pin me again like you did last night and _kill me_ or _die_ —those will be your choices. That was a freebie. Next time we play.” Willow’s body flopped as Buffy shook her. “Clear?”

She heard the words, but they didn’t make sense. Staring blankly into Buffy’s golden eyes, she fought the reflexive need to pant. _Uh…_

Willow struggled to think as tears welled in her eyes. _What does she want?_

Buffy snarled, “ _Clear?_ ”

This time the word struck a chord. Willow fought off the fear and shock that crippled her and wheezed, “Clear.”

The instant she heard the response, Buffy released her grip. Her features softened, morphing to her human mask. “Good girl,” she cooed.

Cupping Willow’s cheek, Buffy drew her into another kiss. This one was tender.

Willow freaked. The desire to pull away was so strong. She refused to give in, forcing herself to calm. Her wrists and throat stung. _There are gonna be bruises._

 _And I deserve them._

Buffy didn’t relent until the last drop of tension faded. Her lips caressed Willow’s. So gentle, affectionate, silky…

It was a struggle for Willow not to react to her own needy body as she fell under the spell. The kiss had to be enough so it was. She poured all of her desire into it. It went on forever, but ended too soon. Willow wasn’t ready when she found herself turning with Buffy as she rolled onto her back. Her own needs just weren’t important. She positioned herself exactly as she had been placed before.

It was enough that Buffy caressed her back as she settled for sleep. It would have to be.


	5. Pieces of Eve

So many soft, dewy kisses caressed Willow’s lips that they tingled. But then all of her tingled, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Not that she could tell what was what. Picking out parts in the warm, muddy soup would’ve taken concentration. And concentration would’ve spoiled everything.

She lingered happily, ignorantly suspended on the edge of sleep. She wanted more, so more was what she got. It was her dream after all. Gentle smoochies became fevered. Languid caresses turned to gropes.

For a time, she remained blissfully unaware that her own hand augmented the fantasy. But that didn’t last. Her parts were so swollen, tender and achy that each touch chipped away at the illusion until it faded.

She was alone. _Where’s Buffy?_

This wasn’t what Willow wanted at all. Disgusted with herself for even going there, she snaked her hands from beneath the covers, opened her eyes and looked around. The one she actually needed was nowhere to be found. Her attention came to rest on the glow that seeped in around the curtains. _Where would she go?_

When nothing came to her, Willow stretched, arching her back. Her hands passed over her tummy. The blankets moved with them. She laid still half exposed, hopelessly needy and verging on grumpy. Mulling over the conversation from the previous evening didn’t help. Coupled with the dream she’d just had, it was—

She swallowed. It hurt. _Snit happens._

 _Whatever. She can’t be gone. Like **gone** gone. She needs me. I’m too talented a whore for her to leave behind._

 _Dammit._ Willow sighed. _I can’t believe she said that._

 _Well, she didn’t exactly say **that**. She just dropped anvil-sized hints. Territorial kissings…_

Willow found the determination to haul her grumpy, sticky, wanton butt out of bed. Mostly it was the grumpiness that did it, so that worked out. She stumbled through the dozen or so steps it took for her to reach the bathroom.

 _I didn’t know. How could I? She never bothered to tell me._

All of her crankiness surfaced when she swiped the shower curtain aside. Somehow she managed to turn the dial-faucet thingy without ripping it out of the wall. She adjusted the temperature and flipped the lever. The shower came on and she stepped in. Warm water flowed over her skin. She turned her back toward the spray and closed the curtain.

 _I certainly didn’t need drugs to make my life a tragedy. I didn’t need them to become an addict either. I never was a conventional girl._

The water flowed through her hair and over her back, soothing some of her inner bitch away. _All it took was her. One girl. The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen._

She picked up the shampoo. _I had no clue what it meant to be gay, besides the obvious, more traditional, ‘happier go luckier’ application of the word. Naïve little Jewish girl. It didn’t even occur to me that what I wanted and what that meant were the same thing. I just knew I needed to be with her. I didn’t even begin to get the ‘why,’ much less the ‘what,’ or the ‘how.’ Those things came lots later._  

She looked at the bottle in her hand. Realizing that the stuff would be much more useful if she actually put it in her hair, she did so. Then she set the bottle down. The steamy air filled with a sweet, citrusy smell when she lathered it in. _None of that mattered. What really mattered was that she wanted to talk to me. She was actually interested in me. Willow Rosenberg: class joke, homework gal, mousey, reliable…_

 _And everyone’s favorite victim._

She closed her eyes and rinsed her hair. _I couldn’t understand why she was even interested. At first I kept wondering when she was gonna be mean. I just knew it’d start. But she wasn’t mean at first._

All of the suds died away. Willow reached down and grabbed the conditioner. She poured some into her hand, set the bottle aside and worked it through her hair. _And by the time I actually understood what she was, I was addicted. I needed her. She made me feel good about being me. No one else even bothered._

 _I’m still addicted._

Willow hung her head under the spray. The water flowed over her face as memories flooded her mind. _Xander even abandoned me after he got that stupid jacket. And he was supposed to be my best friend. I had such a huge crush on him. I would’ve happily given myself to him. In the end, he used the jacket to use me. Totally crazy, but he got exactly what he wanted and it wasn’t about anything as complicated as love. No wonder what I really want is to be conquered by her. Controlled and used._

 _I’m severely fucked up._

She bit her lower lip. It hurt, but she didn’t care.

 _Broken._

Picking up the sponge, she poured a little of the body wash into it. _Jasmine, that’s what that was…citrus and jasmine._ The two smells married, triggering more memories.

 _She says she owns me now. That’s just laughable. I think it’s a vamp thing. She sired me, so…_

Willow shut her eyes and absently trailed the sponge over her skin. _She’s always owned me. She made me. Every twisted inch of me. I became an addict and a murderer to please her. Addicted to dark magicks because she wanted and sex because I wanted. I used one to counter the other. Like the classic junkie. I take one for the up and the other for the down._

 _Now I need to stop._

 _One event—like pulling a card from the bottom of a card house—caused a cascade. She snapped at me and hurt my feelings. She scared me. Tara and I were hanging around watching the fireworks. All of the real work had been done. And I made a silly mistake. I shot my mouth off._

 _All I wanted was what Xander got with his stupid jacket. I never imagined Tara was that jealous. She tied my wish to the spell to hurt Buffy. She got her soul, and then she watched all those innocent girls die. It was almost like what Darla did to her, but not nearly so personal. More torture._

 _That one event—all those cards…and irony, lots of it. The most evil act of her entire unlife led her to seek redemption. I’m not sure she sees that yet, but it is what it is. And my death may be my salvation. Now there’s a laugh. That one event caused it all. It led to me getting what I actually wished for. More or less. Less, ’cause— **well** …but way more, ’cause I never expected any real intimacy. Or honesty for that matter. And I certainly didn’t expect anything that resembled love. Just a fuck._

 _And I was actually mad at Tara._

 _I just have to be patient. Buffy needs time._

Willow looked down. The hand holding the sponge hung at her side. She had no memory of stopping. _It doesn’t matter._ She dropped it onto the ledge _. It’s not like I sweat now. Just rinse the dirt off…_

She turned around to give the water a chance to pound the remaining kinks out of her back. _I was mad at her too. That’s the thing about being an addict: anyone that questions the need is a target._

 _I promised her I’d try to change. Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to show her what she means to me._

Willow turned off the water, got out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She bundled her hair and took another, wrapping it around her body. When she exited the bathroom, she wasn’t alone anymore.

Buffy watched silently from her chair as Willow approached, dropping the towel as she moved. “Did you sleep well?” Buffy asked.

The subtle grin on her face said promising things, so Willow put on her best pout. This was so much the opposite of what she’d expected. It threw her. She covered by hamming it up. “Yeah, but I woke up all alone,” she whined playfully.

Appreciative glances weren’t in Buffy’s nature. And appreciative stares were completely out of character. Two in less than twelve hours was enough to make Willow giddy. She rubbed her hair and cast the silly towel aside. She reached down.

Buffy came willingly. She kissed the pout away. A soft sigh escaped her lips.“Forgive me?”

“Maybe,” Willow murmured. Buffy, caressing her back, made her brain go all mushy.

“Go look in the closet. It might help you make up your mind,” Buffy suggested.

Willow did as she was told, unsure what she’d find. Butterflies filled her tummy when she saw all of the dresses. A bright smile lit her face. She slid the hangers aside to inspect each one. They were all beautiful, but a black, v-neck, flowy charmeuse cocktail dress captured her fancy. “Thank you,” she whispered. Reaching under the plastic cover to free the dress from its hanger, she slipped it over her head. The silk seemed to flow beneath her hands as she smoothed it down.

She glanced over her shoulder at Buffy. She was a lot closer than Willow expected and closing in. She felt the dress pull, but didn’t turn. Buffy stood behind her, gathering the silk waist sash in her hands. Tying it, she ran her fingers down the trailing pieces of fabric. She stepped back to look and stated, “Beautiful.” Willow turned around, glad she couldn’t blush. Buffy ran her hands down Willow’s sides and whispered, “I’ve actually missed this sort of stuff. I can’t exactly wear something like this myself, so…maybe I can enjoy it another way. Does that bother you?”

“Dress me however you want,” Willow replied. “As you said, you own me. Besides, you have great taste, so weirdness aside, it’s a win.”

“There’s more by the dresser,” Buffy said, “I’m going to take a shower.” Briefly meeting Willow’s gaze, she left the room.

On the floor at the dresser’s end sat a row of shopping bags. In the first bag Willow found two boxes from a florist. She opened the first box. There were a dozen white long-stemmed roses just like she’d suggested. The card was for Faith. Not at all surprised, she smirked and closed the lid. 

Her smirk became a smile when she got to the second box and saw her name. Inside there were a dozen long-stemmed, red roses nestled in a thatch of baby’s breath. It was  a little schmaltzy, but it was the good kind of schmaltz. _I can’t believe she’s being so sweet._ Willow opened the card. Penned in Buffy’s neat script was, ‘You’re the only one.’ After puzzling for a moment, she set the card aside and returned to the packages.

The next thing that jumped out were two identical boxes from a gift shop downtown. She opened one. It contained a crystal vase. She went to the kitchenette and filled it with water, then returned to arrange her flowers. When she was satisfied, she set them in the middle of the dresser and stood back admiring them for a moment before continuing.

Also in the gift store bag were two silk scarves, one white and one so dark green it was nearly black. The final bag contained something she had wondered about: makeup. _The ‘no mirror’ thing really sucks. Buffy never seemed to mind it. And no wonder…_

In the closet, she found half a dozen shoe boxes. ’Kay, so… ** _wonder,_** _just not over that. How’d she manage this?_ She located a pair of black flats and slipped them on as Buffy exited the bathroom. “What’d you mean?” Willow asked.

Buffy was focused on toweling her hair dry. That didn’t change. She answered the question with a question without so much as a glance. “Which?”

And that was fine with Willow. Buffy drying her hair held a certain jiggley fascination. _Yeah, I so need to quit before she—_ “The only one,” Willow offered to refresh Buffy’s memory.  

Buffy smiled warmly. “Oh, that.” She swept the dirty towels into a pile by the door with her foot as she replied, “You’re the only one I ever cared enough about. That I felt was worthy to sire. It may sound really cliché or like something pathetically vampy, but what it means, simpled up, is that I couldn’t let you go.” 

Willow crossed the room and embraced Buffy, whispering in her ear, “No one’s ever bought me flowers. I’m not really the sort of girl that inspires sentimental gestures. Thank you.” She gave her partner a kiss.

Buffy didn’t comment. Instead, she gently slipped away. She was obviously in a hurry.

 _I wonder what the big to-do is._

Willow didn’t press. Instead, she busied herself with her mess from the previous night. Watching Buffy get dressed wasn’t an easy thing to pass up. Willow was actually proud of herself. Once her clothes were stashed in the closet, she sat down and casually crossed her legs.

Eying the dark dress slacks Buffy was wearing, Willow asked, “What’s the occasion?” _No leather. Something’s up._

Buffy replied through a snicker, “Faith’s in the hospital.” She glanced up from buttoning her white silk blouse when Willow giggled.

 _I should be ashamed, but—_ “Gone for a week and your pet slayer tries to get herself killed,” Willow said. “Sounds about right.”

“Something like that,” Buffy replied with a wink. “I stopped by the Magic Box. It was closed, so I made the calls. It seems little Faithy’s recovering from major surgery.”

  


* * *

  


Faith’s mind was numb from hours of sitcom after boring sitcom. Tiny little monochrome people moved across the screen. She yawned. The theme to _The Andy Griffith Show_ played. She contained the urge to break the monotony by whistling. _This is just—_

She ditched the headphones and switched the TV off.

 _Enough._

After carefully stretching, her attention came to rest on the recliner where Amy dozed next to her bed. Faith restrained her voice in hope of not startling her friend. “Amy, go home.” She came off exasperated instead. _Go figure_. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.” _This is touching, **really** , but it’s time to cut her off. She’s been here since I got out of recovery. Like twentyish hours. No clue what her trip is—_

Amy mumbled, “Why should I?” Her eyes opened a crack. She shifted around in her chair. The ‘old people noises’ that accompanied the production made Faith grin, but the look Amy gave her cured that right up. “You didn’t leave me,” she grumbled.  

Surprise got the better of Faith. She blurted out, “That was different.” _Christ. That’s what this is about? **Please.** She seriously needs to get over it._ Folding her arms sucked. She had to try one way, and then the other when her hand came to rest over her incision. Having to fight it was truly helpful. “That has nothing to do with this,” she said. “You needed someone to make sure—”

Amy cut her off, “To make sure I lived? To stop me from going to Rack for another fix? To care?” Between the snarky round of ‘fill in the blank’ and the stubborn scowl on Amy’s face, Faith didn’t need a scorecard to see that she’d been vetoed. The bonus, “Not leaving,” was just icing for her gravy.

 _Whatever._ Faith reluctantly conceded, “Alright.” _Arguing’s pretty much pointless._ “Suit yourself. It’s not like I can make you. But you should think about eating something.”

“Giles and Jonathan were here while you were asleep,” Amy replied. “They said they’d bring me something.” Her posture relaxed. She settled back in the recliner.

 _I just wish she’d take care of herself. That’s all any of this was ever about. I couldn’t watch her destroy herself._

It wasn’t long before Amy was dozing again. Faith put the headphones back on and returned her attention to the world of ancient sitcoms. _Thank God I’m out of here tomorrow. That is unless the sadists change their minds. I hate these goddamn places. They smell like sterile death._ Time crept by and the television got no better.

A silhouette cast against the privacy curtain pulled Faith’s attention from the mindless drivel. _A nurse, maybe? But they usually say something. Maybe I didn’t hear her._ She was in the middle of reaching for her headphones when the curtain swirled. A blur of motion overwhelmed her senses. She was mashed to the bed. Pain burned through her neck.

It took a sec, but eventually she caught up. She was pinned by a petite vampire. The long blonde hair that tickled her cheek was a solid clue. That it tickled on top of everything else was just disturbing.

 _Wickedly fast and strong as an ox. I’ll be damned! She’s finally gonna finish it._ The bed squeaked and clattered as Faith struggled, but the pain in her neck wasn’t budging.

When the vampire jerked, Faith tracked the movement and caught the end of the show. Amy had tried to jump in. The vamp’s foot connected with her face.

Each time Faith thrashed, her arms and legs grew heavier. She was fighting a losing battle. The room went blurry. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open.

  


* * *

  


The elevator doors opened. Buffy stepped inside with one arm around Willow and a box of flowers in the other. It was hopelessly sappy. Naturally, Willow was eating it up. She moved aside, allowing Buffy to tap the button for the fourth floor.

As the elevator began its ascent, Buffy leaned against the opposing wall, regarding the witch. The three-quarter length, black lambskin coat she’d chosen was tasteful and nicely tailored. It looked good on the redhead, very much appropriate for an evening on the town. And that was the point—the image Buffy wished to project.

Buffy’s interest lingered. The darker of the two scarves was tied around Willow’s throat. _Pretty. And it detracts from the obvious._ Traces of bruising were visible just above it. _Having to remember to get those stupid things—_

She swallowed thickly and looked down. _The bruises are really horrible. I knew they would be. I had it figured so well, I even bought two colors so she could pick what to wear._

 _And like a good little monster, I could hide the evidence._

 _Guilt._

 _Well, this sucks out loud. I made my point. Why wasn’t that good enough?_

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Willow asked.

Buffy looked up, brushing off the concern with a thin smile and a boldfaced lie. “I’m fine, Will.” The tone of her voice was too light and chipper. She kicked herself for overacting like a bad vaudeville star. Thankfully, Willow didn’t press.

 _What’s worse, she probably thinks she deserved it. I snapped. And she took it like a good little victim. Just like I trained her._

 _We make a beautiful pair. I punish her, she punishes me. Yeah…that’s healthy. Like either one of us has half a clue what the word means._

The doors opened. Buffy offered Willow a hand and led her from the elevator. “Are you warm enough?” she asked, giving Willow’s hand a gentle squeeze.

As Buffy steered them to the right, following the sign stuck to the wall in front of them, Willow murmured, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m glad,” Buffy replied. She really was, despite pasting on the same thin smile. “There’s a trick to avoiding the Nanook of the North look and still staying warm.” A hint of preoccupation thickened her voice. _I remember what that was like…being that cold. I don’t want that for her._

Again, Willow didn’t intrude. Buffy was, after all, navigating them through the maze of corridors. She supposed it made a pretty good excuse. When they reached the end of the hallway, she glanced at the signs and made a left. _I’ve never been colder in my life then when I woke up on that concrete floor._

 _It didn’t last long. I went home one final time, took a shower, packed a bag and built a fire. I’ve been burning things ever since._

 _Hatred can keep you pretty warm._

She guided them to the right, twisting her upper body to allow Willow to file in behind her as they passed a couple nurses with a gurney. _I shouldn’t have told her anything last night…unless I was prepared to tell her everything. That wasn’t fair._ Once they slipped past the obstacle, Willow matched pace beside her. _What I did tell her was just plain cruel._

They passed an intersection. Buffy took a quick look at the signs and kept going. _The really weird part is that other than the ‘raving bitch’ portion of the exercise, I don’t think I regret it. Not the honesty. Not now, at least. Not unless she makes me._

The corridor ended at a windowed alcove with tacky maroon furniture and craploads of people. A young couple tried to quiet their two young children. Buffy paused. Watching them made her skin crawl.

The hallway to the left was bustling with activity too. _Four-twenty-three, it should be just down here._ She sighed and took off, confirming her suspicion by glancing at the sign as she passed. No one paid them any notice as they slipped through the knot of people clustered around the nurse’s station.

Buffy located the right room. _Play time._ She poked her head in the door. At first her smile was wasted on an empty bed. It evaporated entirely when she peeked behind the cream colored privacy curtain that surrounded bed number two.

  


* * *

  


Willow stared, bewildered, as Buffy launched herself forward. The curtain billowed. A soft thud resonated through the small room. She looked down. The box of flowers had hit the floor. From behind the curtain came more thudding, crashing and scraping.

A squeal rang out. _Just a guess, but that’s probably not a pig._

 _Or Faith. At least I hope it’s not Faith. Uh…_

 _Wait, if it’s not Faith, then…?_

Pushing the curtain aside had the expected result. Willow fixated on Buffy who stood with her hands raised above her head. From them dangled a petite blonde vampire. Her arms and legs moved like the wings of a spastic hummingbird. Trying to follow them made Willow feel dizzy.

She knew she needed to snap out of it. While her brain was running laps, Buffy was taking a beating. The vamp was hell-bent on finding freedom. And Buffy was just as serious about not letting that happen. So serious that blood oozed from between her fingers.

A drop fell. Willow never saw it hit the floor. The bed was in the way. It shuddered, jostling its lifeless occupant. Willow’s attention returned to Buffy’s captive. The vampire was thrashing, out of control. _She must’ve kicked the—_

“Will you take this thing already?” Buffy snarled.

 _Huh?_

The vamp’s heel struck her thigh.

 _Thing?_

Buffy winced but didn’t let go.

 _Oh! But—_

Willow folded under the ferocity of Buffy’s stare. Anger always came easy with her around. All Willow had to do was focus on her crassness, her utter self-absorption, her brutality…

She felt powerful and alive. The air around her crackled. “ _Evincio_.” Her voice was wispy like the bonds she summoned from the ether. They took hold around the vampire’s wrists and ankles. She snapped them tight with an absent thought. The vampire’s body splayed out and Buffy let go.

An icy lump formed in Willow’s belly. _No, this is good. I’m doing good by being bad. There’s a new one._

There was a dead spot along the wall between the chairs and sink. She concentrated on moving the creature out of the way.

The vamp whimpered. Willow muttered, “ _Contraho_ ,” choking off her voice. _We’ve already made too much noise. There’s just no way…_

Willow reached out to touch the door with her will. It swung closed, sealing them inside.

Buffy moved to the bed and bent over the slayer. After a moment of silent inspection, she announced, “She’ll live.” But Willow couldn’t see how. The smell of death loomed in the air.

She went to Amy’s side, stooping to lift her into the chair. “She’ll live too,” she whispered. The blood the spattered other witch’s face made her weak. She felt the change and was powerless to control it. Hunger gripped her. She admitted the truth. “But she smells too much like dinner for that to—” She broke off to lick her lips.

Buffy chided through a laugh. “Be nice, Will.”

Willow didn’t find anything about this funny. She looked up from where she kneeled to see Buffy wink. _I’m trying to, but—_

 _But you—_

Willow stood up. As she rounded the foot of the bed, a snapping sound caught her interest.

 _You won’t let me._

She faced her prisoner. The demon had lost its hold. She found herself looking into the pale blue eyes of a very frightened young woman with a dislocated shoulder. The hair that framed the girl’s face was straight and much fairer than Buffy’s. Her soft, pasty features had a naïve look about them.   

Buffy stood in the now open window behind the girl. “Put that thing outside,” she said and stepped out of the way.

Willow had lost the heart for violence, but she knew that Buffy wouldn’t let it go. _By her definition, we’re ‘things’ too._ She focused on the blood around the girl’s mouth. It made it easier for her to accept the word ‘thing.’ _There just has to be a better way. This ‘thing’ is something we made. A person. Sort of._

 _Maybe there’s a chance. Maybe I could give her a soul?_

As the girl floated backward, Willow bent her into a fetal position. Once she was through the window, her limbs stretched out again.

There was a smile on Buffy’s face when she glanced over her shoulder. “Closer,” she said, “I wanna be able to touch her.”

The knot in Willow’s tummy moved to her throat, but she followed the order.

Buffy leaned out the window. “The slayer’s mine,” she hissed. “Touch her again and die.”

 _Oh, well maybe—_

Willow’s hopes were crushed when Buffy continued. “This town _is mine_.”

 _No, this is territorial. She’s making a point._

The rage pouring off her partner came sharply into focus.

Buffy concluded her statement by asking, “Understand?”

The young vampire nodded and fought to croak a feeble reply. Her words weren’t words at all, just gibberish. Willow didn’t need to hear them to understand a plea for mercy.

“Flay her,” Buffy snarled.

 _No!_

 _No. I can’t. Please, don’t make me._

 _I’ll kill her. That’d be humane._

 _You can’t ask that. Not and…_

 _You want one thing, but—_

 _It doesn’t make any—_

When nothing happened, Buffy looked over her shoulder. Cold, steely eyes met Willow’s. She swallowed the lump and reached out with her right hand. What Buffy asked made her furious, so that part was easy. It was the rest that hurt. Something inside her broke when she focused her will and muttered, “ _Excorio_.” Fiery bolts arced from her fingertips. They connected with the girl, stripping her clothing and flesh. It dripped away in smoldering lumps.

Willow stared at the bloody musculature of her victim’s face and felt nothing.

Buffy put her hand to her chin. “Thank you. Now eviscerate her. Don’t kill. Just take the minor organs.”

Willow traced a line with her finger. The meat sack opened neatly down the center. Its muscles peeled back like a curtain, revealing its intestines. The organs came out in chunks no greater than a handbreadth. Sparks showered from the living carcass. The pieces made squishy sounds as they rained onto the rooftop below.

Buffy reached out to yank a stubborn piece that hadn’t fallen. What remained of the living anatomy mannequin flinched. Willow was shocked it was still conscious. _The pain must be excruciating._ _Its brain must be having trouble keeping up. I’ve seen this before. It’s fascinating. You’d think it’d pass out, but its brain just switches off and desperation keeps the body going._

“’Kay, now…listen close,” Buffy hissed. “You tell your little friends I’m coming.” She looked over her shoulder to issue the next command. “Now the major muscle groups. I want it to take hours for this bitch to move.”

Willow followed the directive with the same clinical precision. The connective tissue severed, but the joints stayed together. Muscles pulled away, shearing into tiny pieces as they left the body. They rained onto the roof below, making wet, squishy sounds.

Once the skeleton was picked clean, Willow fixated on the ribcage. A thin membrane held the organs inside. She peered through it at a small mass of muscle that lay clumped in the hollow. It looked like charred jerky. She wondered if her own heart was desiccated like her victim’s.

 _Yes._

Buffy reached out to caress the skull where the creature’s cheek had once been. She drew her hand back and licked the blood from her fingertips. “Drop her. Keep her together. No dust.”  
             
The thing plunged from view when Willow muttered, “Enough.” She concentrated to bind the important parts together. Crunchy, splintering sounds confirmed it striking the rooftop. She peered blankly at the window as Buffy shut it and closed the drapes.

Buffy cast a concerned glance in Willow’s direction before she went to the sink to wash up. “Sorry ’bout that. I just wanted—”

Willow cut her off, “To send a message.” Her delicate voice held an acidic edge. _A little late to care don’t you think?_

Buffy looked over her shoulder as she washed her hands. “That would be it,” she confirmed. “She’ll never be right again. Even if she does heal.” She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser.

The last of Willow’s resolve crumbled. She fought to keep the trembling in check. It came through in her voice as she reflected, “I remember the last time. You don’t have to—”

“I know you do, Will,” Buffy whispered. She pitched the paper towel into the trashcan under the sink, turned and tried to embrace Willow.

When Willow recoiled, she saw something she never thought she’d see on Buffy’s face. The steely edge melted, replaced by hurt.

Buffy looked away. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. The hurt was even clearer in her tone.

Willow caved, giving in to the hug. I _can’t believe she can stand to touch me after that. She has to feel this. And I look—I’m not even sure how I look, I just know it’s gotta be bad. Like death._

It didn’t matter. Buffy caressed Willow’s back and held her. She gave Willow a tender kiss. Some of the edges chipped away. 

Willow remembered how awful Faith had looked. She cleared her throat and slipped away. Her needs were secondary. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “You should get a doctor for these two.”

“Are you sure?” Buffy replied.

Willow nodded.

“’Kay…I’ll be right back.”

Seeing Buffy come off like a nervous Nellie put a smile on Willow’s face. It was just too cute. She released her hold on the door as Buffy tore off out of the room.

Alone at last, or close enough, Willow took a deep breath to clear her aching head. It didn’t help. She wasn’t even sure how to begin, so she closed her eyes and just tried to relax.

Eventually, the pressure of time brought her back. Her gaze came to rest on the long-forgotten flowers. That they hadn’t been stepped on was a small miracle. She located the shopping bag she’d been carrying between Faith’s bed and the curtain. How it had gotten there was a complete mystery. She had no memory of even dropping it.

The vase wasn’t broken. Her hands trembled as she filled it with water and arranged the flowers for Faith. _Just something, anything useful helps._ She placed them on the bedside table along with the card.

Once she was finished, she left the room to await Buffy.


	6. Bad Blood

Jonathan rounded the corner just down from the nurse’s desk. His attention fixed on the tiny blonde who was arguing with one of the nurses. He flinched, nearly fumbling the tray of fountain drinks he was carrying. “B-Buffy,” he sputtered.

_Oh!_

_Oh, good one! Call the crazy vampire’s name, that’ll keep her from grabbing you by the throat and turning your insides to outsides._

He’d drawn her attention. _Oh, hell!_ It took every ounce of strength he had not to run screaming like a little girl.

The funny thing…the look on her face didn’t say ‘miffed.’ If anything, she was mildly amused. She winked. But as she shifted her attention back to the nurse, her expression soured.

Giles had already moved ahead. The next few paces cost Jonathan all of his courage…and probably half of someone else’s. His legs locked and stuttered. And sucking on a styptic pencil wouldn’t have made his mouth any drier. All he wanted was to be able to hear and the waiting room next to him was full of noisy people. _This shouldn’t be that hard._

That, and it irked him to no end when the old British librarian showed more backbone than he did. _Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. It was hesitation._

_Sounds suspicious. Where’s your proof? The safe bet says any smart cats would be halfway to the street by now._

He rolled his eyes. _Not to mention the scaredy ones…_

_At least I don’t get knocked out half as much as Giles does._

Buffy spat, “Look, lady…” background noise drowned out most of what she said, but Jonathan put it together from the pieces “…my lawyer spent more on lunch today than you’ll take home. You can bank on it.”

But he had no problem hearing: “Don’t screw with me or I’ll own your simple ass!” In fact, he damn near jumped out of his skin. _Half the hospital probably heard that._ Cold soda trickled between his fingers.

The funny thing, the old nurse looked completely bored. _She’s gonna get herself killed._

Not missing a beat, Buffy continued her tirade. “Now choices…make ’em quick: lawsuity badness or come with me. It’s not that hard.” She sounded totally dangerous, but the dense old nurse just sat there like a lump. _I wonder why she isn’t moving._

_Hum…well, Buffy does look like she’s maybe fourteen or fifteen. And she **is** yelling. I might ignore her too if I didn’t know better._

Buffy marched around the counter, snarling, “Today might be nice.” She seized the nurse’s arm. “Come on, lady.” Like it or not, the poor old woman got to her feet.

Jonathan was a little surprised that Buffy didn’t toss the nurse over her shoulder. It seemed like what would follow. Instead, she made a beeline for Faith’s room, ranting as she went, “There’s a patient bleeding to death just down the hall.” The nurse staggered along behind her. “How difficult can it be to do your goddamn job?”

The old nurse squawked, smacking Buffy’s arm. Of course, Buffy was totally unaffected. 

Jonathan ran after them. He caught sight of Giles outside Faith’s room. He’d lost track of him while Buffy was going off. Giles was moving their way at top speed, looking extremely upset. He took the nurse’s other arm and said to Buffy, “Thank you, but I do believe we have this under—”

Buffy didn’t let go. She didn’t even slow down. Oblivious to Giles, the nurse and all of the other people around her gawking, she muttered, “Stupid, stupid woman,” under her breath. The effect was that the petite blonde ended up dragging both the nurse and Giles until he wised up and let go.

Jonathan snickered.

At the doorway their train picked up another passenger. A scary looking Willow stepped in front of him. His heart stammered. He stopped dead in his tracks, fighting the impulse to flee, but she barely even noticed him. She filed into the room behind the others.

Despite his better judgment, Jonathan followed her in.

From behind the curtain, Buffy commanded, “Fix it, now.” The curtain rustled as she emerged.

The villains had obviously gotten turned around. There should’ve been some rending and maybe a little dark, ugly hocus-pocus…and maybe even some rending with the dark, ugly hocus-pocus. But instead of the usual violence and mayhem, the two girls met each other’s gaze. Jonathan couldn’t imagine what reason either one of them had to look so unhappy.

_Bad things happening to us should mean good things for them. That’s the standard, right? Cue the mad cackling. Team white hat just took one on the chin._

Willow asked, “We good?” She held her hand out and Buffy accepted it.

“Better,” Buffy replied. Funny, the word sounded like a curse. “Mindless cattle.” And the actual curse was barely a mumble. “Let’s bail. No good can come of this.”

Jonathan plastered himself against the wall, giving them room to pass. Any hope that they wouldn’t notice him was absolutely absurd. But they didn’t. They walked right past without giving him so much as a passing glance.

Curiosity compelled him to follow, but he found the sense to stop just outside the door. He watched them intently as they strode down the corridor hand-in-hand. _I don’t get it. It looked suspiciously like Buffy was trying to help us._ And in some alternate reality, that might’ve flown, if their entire presence hadn’t read ‘evil’ and ‘inhuman.’

_I hope Faith’s o—_

_No, doofus, Faith isn’t okay. Buffy was trying to—_

_But that doesn’t make any sense! Why would she help us? Unless the world’s turned upside down. Did the rules suddenly change? Did we just miss it? It hasn’t been two weeks since they tried to—_

“Code blue. Trauma team report to room four-twenty-three.” The nurse’s voice echoing over the P.A. brought him to his senses.

  


* * *

  


Tears streamed down Amy’s cheeks. She was powerless to stop them. _Dammit all to Hell. I should just let this asshole give me the goddamn shot. The trouble is, Dr. Robert here wants me to drink the whole cup of tea. He’s not gonna settle for half. He wants me flat on my back for god-knows-how-long. And if I could afford that…_

_But I can’t. I wish I could negotiate with the dumb sonuvabitch…maybe get him to reduce the dose to something less than catatonic…_

_That won’t happen either. And I can’t afford to have my brain scrambled. It’ll be bad enough trying to talk if I can think straight. I have to tell them what I—_

“Alright now, Amy, I need you to hold very still,” the doctor said. “You’re going to feel a sharp pain.” He wasn’t lying. He pushed on both sides of her nose, completely eliminating any higher brain function. The crackling sounds the cartridge made as it moved tied her stomach in knots.

Amy whimpered. That was the last sound she made. A string of expletives tumbled through her head. She managed to suck it up, though she damn near cracked a tooth doing it.

Her nose gushed and her eyes poured. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep the blood out. _At least the bastard didn’t say ‘a pinch’ or ‘some discomfort.’ I’ll give him credit for that._

This was worse than being kicked because, after the asshole snapped it back into place, he wouldn’t stop screwing with it. He blotted the mess away and packed her nostrils with gauze before applying a plastic splint. When he finished taping it down, she relaxed the death grip she had on the arms of her chair.

She tried to blink away the blurriness as she looked at Faith. Her friend’s face was a milky, lifeless, haze. The machines clustered around the other side of her bed beeped and flashed. Another doctor was working to stabilize her. Amy asked, “She going to be okay?” half-fearing the answer.

The other doctor replied, “She’ll be just fine, miss.”

Amy was just shocked he understood. _If only he was half the liar…_

The doctor attending to her said, “Please just sit still. I’m almost finished.”

It wasn’t hard to follow his instructions. _My face feels like it might fall off. And I kinda wish it would._

Her doctor did eventually get bored, give up or whatever. Amy couldn’t be sure which. _Or maybe he actually finished, like he said. Hell if I know._ She was just pleased that Giles replaced him. But she wasn’t pleased with what she saw when she glanced his way. _So riddle me this: what do we do when our answer man’s totally lost?_ She took the hand he offered, as much to comfort him as herself. _Yeah, and what’s the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?_

 _Who give a shit?_ _I need to get a grip._

Paper rustling caught her attention. Amy turned to look with just her eyes. The rest hurt too much to move. It was only Jonathan setting the food on the counter next to the sink. He faced her, offering a weak smile.

She wanted to return the gesture, but that was a profoundly bad idea. She accepted the icepack the doctor handed her instead and gingerly brought it to her face. It stung like hell, but she forced herself to keep it there. Leaning back in the chair, she shut her eyes and filtered out the noise.

Giles got up to speak with her doctor as he left the room. She caught enough pieces of the conversation to get that the doctor still wasn’t thrilled. _Nothing new there. He didn’t like my answers at all._

“I’ll be back to check on the bleeding in an hour. She needs to keep her head inclined. And no unnecessary movement,” the doctor said.

_No problem. I’ll get right on that._

“Very well, I’ll see to it,” Giles replied, returning to take a seat. “I trust you heard that?”

“Yes,” Amy said. Her voice sounded like total crap. Without opening them, she rolled her eyes. It hurt. That figured. _This just couldn’t get more fun. I need to be serious and taken seriously…and I sound like Pilz-E the Squirrel on Xanax._

_Whatever. I need to get this over with._

She tilted the icepack so she could speak around it. “Giles, there’s something you should know.”  

Giles leaned toward her. “Yes?”

Moving her mouth was a bad idea. Amy tried not to as she mumbled, “You know how I’ve been learning to read auras?” Of course, that made her sound worse. She had to speak very slowly to enunciate her words. _Thankfully, Giles is anything if not patient._

It took him a few to put it together, but he eventually replied, “Yes,” matching her subdued tone.

Amy cracked her eyelids. She could almost see him if she looked all the way to the right. She stifled a snicker. _I wonder if he knows sign language. Might be easier. Charades are kind of out—what with the not moving. Anyway, I might pass out. And writing with my head leaned back—?_

_Let’s not._

“Well, I’m not sure, ’cause, y’know…head injury…and seeing stars, but I think Buffy had one,” Amy muttered. She paused to swallow some of the drainage. It was gross, but she didn’t really have a choice. “I was coming to when she dragged the nurse in the room. It scared the crap out of me.” _Please don’t argue with me, Giles. I get that I’m not at my best, but I didn’t just see this. Or I mean, I did see it. I wasn’t seeing things. It was red and smoky. You don’t just see that. It wasn’t a trick of the light._

_She was pissed! No mystery there. Nothing new. But her aura said so too. And that’s **way** new…like pretty huge._

Giles mulled over what she said. Finally, he stated the obvious, “But the only way—” or tried.   

Amy finished his thought. “The only way she’d have one is if she had a soul.” To her surprise Giles didn’t object. More confident, she mumbled, “Yeah, I got that. I don’t think it was her—the vamp that attacked Faith.  She was heavier than Buffy and her hair was lighter.”

Giles stammered, “But that would mean—”

It was all Amy could do not to burst out laughing. She snorted, instantly regretting it. The pain was awful. Her eye streamed with fresh tears. Giles gave her a concerned glance. She shut her eyes and muttered through clenched teeth, “I’ll be fine.” It took a moment for her to compose herself. “Buffy was trying to help.” _This is good news, Giles. It’s screwy and really hard to get your head around, but there’s hope. I’m not sure how much. And God knows, I’ll be the first to play skeptic, but—_

“I thought so too,” Jonathan interjected from his place by the sink.

Amy turned just enough to see his smile. It had the desired effect. She felt better. Jonathan had her back.

He went on, explaining, “She was really upset out in the hall. I don’t think you saw that, Giles. It was weird. She threatened to sue the hospital. When threats didn’t work, she grabbed the nurse. But that part you saw.” He laughed. “It was funny.”

“The witch, Willow, what do you make of her? She had just worked some very dark magic,” Giles said in a low, thoughtful voice.

“No clue,” Amy mumbled. “Head injury, remember?” _There was a vamp. And I don’t think it was Buffy. So it tracks—_ “Maybe she got rid of the other vamp. There’s no trace. No dust I’ve seen. Not that I’ve done much—” _But it seems like it’d be obvious. Faith would be covered. You’ve gotta see that too._  

Giles didn’t answer.

 _Please, just see that._ Eventually, Amy felt him move. She guessed it to be a nod.

“Perhaps,” he replied. That was as close to an affirmation as Giles usually gave. “Supposing you’re correct, what do you believe we should do about it?” His restrained voice sounded just above the level of the monitors.

“I dunno. I wasn’t suggesting we _do_ anything,” Amy whispered. She wanted to snicker. _Like that wouldn’t be a mistake. The smile hurt bad enough._ “I’m not even sure what a soul would mean to someone like Buffy. I just thought you should know.”

  


* * *

  


The air was frigid. Fog rose up around Buffy, making it impossible for her to see. She shut her eyes and leaned into the large metal chest, groping around with her gloved hands. There was nothing within reach. Her feet left the ground. She balanced on her tummy and giggled. _I felt like a midget before I almost fell headfirst into the ginormous cooler._

_Now?_

She dipped just a little farther down and hand met something. Grabbing hold, she leaned back. A chunk of dry ice came with her. The tips of her boots touched and she pushed off, landing on the balls of her feet. She stooped to place the dry ice into a normal-sized cooler.

After putting things back the way she’d found them, she said, “There has to be a better way.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But right now, I’m clueless. This is the best solution I have.”

Willow didn’t reply. She sat at a desk in the corner of the smallish, dimly lit room. Her face was illuminated by the glow of the computer screen and whatever witchy badness she was up to. She was so into it that she didn’t even bat an eye. _Uh-boy. Computer plus Willow pretty much always equals felony. Wonder what it is this time._

Buffy knelt to line the cooler with an insulating sheet from the stack on the shelf. “So, whatcha stealing this time?” she asked, choking off a laugh.

“Not exactly ‘stealing,’ more like ‘rescuing’,” Willow replied as Buffy picked up the cooler and crossed the room, heading for the refrigeration units.

She placed the cooler on a rolling metal cart and clarified, “So whatcha ‘rescuing’?” unable to stifle a snicker this time. _She’s so bad._

Buffy kept moving, dragging the metal cart over next to the refrigerator _. I’d love to stop and really make sure she’s okay._

_Tempting, but pointless. I already know the answer. She’s miles from okay. And this needs to be done, so…_

As she opened the door of the refrigerator and began to inventory its contents, Willow replied, “I’d be upset if you destroyed my property.” She let out a harrumph of a laugh that might’ve indicated that she was joking. “And you really don’t want me upset.” But it was impossible to tell. She sounded so serious.

 _No, no I don’t_.

Checking the labels of the hanging bags had Buffy pretty preoccupied. She didn’t take the time to find the sense in Willow’s spiel. “Looks like they’ve got plenty of A-positive,” Buffy mumbled to herself. “No surprise.” _This is bad enough without taking the last of something. All I need is another innocent death strung around my neck. That’d be just peachy._

_But it is sorta us or them. We’ve gotta eat to live. Without us there won’t be a ‘them,’ so…_

_I can rationalize anything. It’s a gift._  

What Willow had said finally sunk in and Buffy asked, “Your ‘property’?”

The lid of the dry ice chest shut with a whumph. She glanced over her shoulder. Willow was magicking another cooler together.

_Show off._

Buffy loaded the first bags into her cooler as Willow explained, “The car, don’t kill it.”

A happy little flutter made Buffy giggle. “Really?” she said, reaching for two more bags of blood.

Willow brought the cooler over, leaning in to whisper, “ _Really_. It suits you.”

The breath on Buffy’s cheek made her shiver. And Willow’s voice had this slight tremble that made it gravelly. Buffy took an unneeded, much needed breath before placing the bags she held into the cooler.

Willow moved to the second fridge and began to contribute to the heist. It took a couple minutes of Buffy feeling like everything was gonna be fine before she came to her senses. _There’s no way this is that easy. It’s never easy. Something’s always gotta go—_

A clattering sound echoed through the room. “Dammit!” Willow hissed.  

_Like that._

_Like she was reading my mind. No, that wasn’t creepy._

Buffy smelled the blood before she saw it. _Figures. Too good to be true never is. We just don’t get that lucky._ She stashed the bags she had in hand and rushed to Willow’s side. _Dunno what I expected._

Willow was clutching a drippy bag in her trembling hand. The cooler lay on its side at her feet. Bags of blood spilled out of it. They all appeared to be intact.

 _Pretty much this…once I pulled my head out of… **yeah**. _ “I’ve got this,” Buffy said as she took the torn bag from Willow. “Go get cleaned up and sit down.” She led Willow to the sink and went through the cupboards while the witch washed her hands.

Willow tore a paper towel out of the dispenser and cursed under her breath when it rattled. It was sort of a shock to see the stupid thing still hanging on the wall.

Luck, good planning and judgment weren’t on Buffy’s side either. She combed through all of the cabinets only to find what she wanted sitting on the desk. “Dammit,” she muttered, shaking her head as she picked up the mug. She went to the sink to wash and filled it. Then she turned her attention to Willow. There were a few spots of blood on her coat. Buffy used a damp paper towel to blot them away. 

There was still the mess on the floor, but it was the last thing that mattered at the moment. She pitched the empty bag and led Willow over to the desk, setting the mug in front of her. Buffy crouched down. The witch looked horrible. Her face was gaunt. The color of her skin was so intensely pale that Buffy could see the veins underneath.

A fresh twinge of guilt crept up. To compensate, Buffy reached out to tuck a lock of Willow’s black hair behind her ear. She tried to come up with a way to help, but nothing came to mind. Grasping at straws, she whispered, “Look, Will, there’s always a prostitute or two at the truckstop on the interstate. It’s a bit of a drive, but—”

To her mind it was a perfectly reasonable suggestion. And the last thing Willow wanted to hear. The moment she looked up, Buffy understood that.

“You really don’t get it, do you, Buffy?” A hiss of a snicker cut into Willow’s tirade. “ _Whore_ is just another way of saying _victim_.” The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Seconds prior to Willow tacking on, “Look at me,” Buffy caved and looked away.

That was the last thing she wanted to do. The corner of the desk was just so much more entertaining. She swallowed. Her throat felt stiff. She cleared it. The lump wasn’t going anywhere. She mumbled, “I shouldn’t have—” And stumbled. Her thought went unfinished. Clearing her throat again, she asked, “If you knew how bad this was gonna be, why’d you do it?”

“Because you told me to,” Willow whispered.

_She can’t be serious. It’s not that simple. This shit’s never that simple. She hesitated._

_That just means she thought it over. It was her choice. She could’ve said ‘no.’ I wouldn’t have taken it well. But what could I really do?_

_And that’s no better. That actually makes it—_

Buffy wanted to give Willow some space. From her posture, she appeared to need it. As Buffy got up and leaned against the desk, Willow went on. “I told you I’d follow. That doesn’t mean ‘pick and choose.’ It means ‘follow’.” She paused to take a careful sip from her mug. “You need to decide what you want from me.”

_Oh, God…_

The ground at Buffy’s feet suddenly became interesting. _What she’s talking about is something I always demanded, but never expected. Definitely not from someone like her. I think Luke’s the only one who ever—and he’s just a mindless zealot. If he has two functional brain cells, it’s ’cause I gave him permission to keep them._

“I think it was smart,” Willow muttered. “It hurts like hell, but it was smart.” She tried to take another sip and almost spilled her cup.

Buffy caught it. A little bit sloshed out. She asked, “What makes you say that?” as she went to get more paper towels to clean up. _Imagine me doing this._

_Imagine me wanting to do this. She sacrificed herself for me. And not even for a good reason. She knows how I am. I was pissed. Wrathy begins to cover it. That wasn’t rational. And now she wants to justify it._

As Buffy returned to her side, Willow mumbled, “It’s just—” pausing to lick her lips “—these girls are obviously organized. Maybe not totally organized, but someone’s leading them. They’re too focused. It has to be that. If we show them mercy, they’ll think they’re dealing with someone soft. They’ll wonder why. They may even arrive at the truth. But by showing them what we did—”

Buffy picked up the thought and finished it. “My rep will hold up. They’ll think nothing’s changed.” _That makes sense._

_What else? We are talking about Will. She’s always been a little crazy._

_Well, more than a little. But she’s also deviously brilliant too. Damn dangerous combination._

Willow nodded and reached for the cup. Buffy beat her to it. She needed to help. Willow’s shaking was a little better, but not much. _I wonder if this happened before when she was—oh, I don’t know how to put it. Is this new? No, she won’t know what I mean. How do I even ask that?_

It was too late. Willow opened her mouth to speak, “I need you to pick.”

Buffy just let her. _I’ll figure it out later._

Willow looked away as she pleaded,“Please, I can’t be both things. If you really want me to be good, then you can’t ask me to do stuff like that. I told you I’d follow and I really, really want to. But I just can’t. I can’t be both.”

_My god, she is…_

_How can she believe in me that much? After all the rotten things I’ve done, she shows me devotion. Real devotion._

_I can’t deal with this right now._

“I’m gonna go finish up,” Buffy said, stifling a sigh. _It’s as good an excuse as any._ She didn’t even make it around the desk before she stopped to ask, “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Eventually,” Willow whispered.

Buffy went back to work, cleaning up the spilled blood, wiping things down and filling the coolers. _I need to make this quick. We’ve already been here too long. And Will really needs—well, I’m not even sure what she needs._

While Buffy busied herself, she tried to keep the conversation alive, as much for Willow as for herself. “Y’know, I really don’t understand what you do. I need you to help me.”

“Well, it’s not really that hard.” Willow’s voice was so soft it was hard to hear. “Stuff that causes harm is bad. I can’t do anything like that without—” When she broke off, Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d stopped talking or—

Willow had this weird blank look on her face. She stared into the computer monitor, doing nothing.

_Without this. Okay. No big. It not like I can’t handle the wet work from here on out._

Buffy placed another couple bags of O-positive in the first cooler and shut the lid. Picking it up, she set it out of the way as she asked, “But there’s other stuff, right?”

“Yeah,” Willow replied. “There’s elemental magic—regular witchy stuff.” Her tone was all about the ‘but.’

When Buffy turned to look, Willow explained, “Trouble is, the fire thing pretty much scares the poop out of me.” Buffy closed the first fridge and moved to the second. “And earth? It’s sort of the same deal. I can do small stuff, but anything big hurts.” After taking a quick inventory, Buffy began to fill the second cooler with more o-positive. “And air’s similar.”

Willow stalled long enough that Buffy almost checked up on her. There was only one thing left. Eventually, Willow got around to saying, “ _Water_.” Not just once, but twice with shifting emphasis and a nice little dramatic pause in the middle. Buffy didn’t need to hear any more. Just that made it perfectly clear that Willow was good with all things wet and…

 _Uh, yeah… **so** , this is dumb, but I have to ask,_ “So, I’m guessing immolations are—?”

Like clockwork Willow finished her thought, “Not gonna happen.”

_I was thinking ‘off the menu,’ but same difference._

_Yeah, that pretty much stinks._

Buffy was up to speed, but Willow must’ve needed to spell it out. “Manipulating and conjuring fire? Yeah, that’d go over well.” What’s more, she had to be snarky about it. “You have to channel the element, so unless you want a big pile of ash for—uh… _no_.” She even giggled. “Me, not them.”

Funny was the last thing Buffy thought this was. _Yeah, we’ll skip that. My job just got harder. Oh well._ She finished up and turned to face Willow. “Makes sense,” she said. “’Kay, so…from now on you tell me. I’ll let you know what the problem is, but I won’t ask you to do anything specific. You come up with a solution. If there are choices, let me know what they are and what you think’s best.”

Willow’s mug was empty, but she was still a wreck. Buffy went to wash it. Willow moved to grab one of the coolers while she was cleaning up.

“Will, seriously…let me handle those,” Buffy said. “You just get the doors.” She returned the mug to the desk and gave the place another quick once-over. It looked okay, so she went to grab the coolers. “Is there anything you can think—anything that’ll help?”

“It’ll pass,” Willow replied, but that wasn’t really an answer.

_That’s okay. I can guess._

Buffy was the first one to the door. It was one of those things with the bar anyway, so she just opened it with her back. She got turned around just in time to see Willow hang her head.

“I’m better off doing, moving, concentrating on something else. _Distracted_ ,” Willow stammered as she slipped past. Once through, she grabbed the edge of the door and held it.

The coolers were awkward. Buffy compensated by holding one out in front of her and the other behind her as she passed through the doorway. She took off down the hall and beat Willow to the stairway door too. It wasn’t a big deal. She just opened it the same way. “We’ll make a sweep of the town. See if we get lucky,” she said.

The stairwell was empty. Buffy stopped and put the coolers down. _We need a minute. Things might get easier if I just admit…_ “This isn’t your fault, Will.”  

Getting a hug out of Willow took some coaxing. It took even more to get her to look up. Buffy rewarded her with a gentle kiss.

It wasn’t much of a reward. Willow didn’t want to be touched. She eased away and resumed her inspection of the floor.

The rejection stung a little, but Buffy figured she deserved it. She rested her forehead against Willow’s and offered the only thing she had left. “I’m sorry.”

  


* * *

  


Sounds of life carried in from the hallway, but within the room the mood was somber. From his seat at Amy’s side, Giles studied his charge’s pallid face.

_Seven years here have taught me a great many things. The most important of these lessons is that family earned is far stronger than the meaningless ties of blood and heritage. I have come to genuinely love and respect these young people. In a very real way they have become my family._

Giles averted his eyes. It was impolite to stare. He fixed his attention on the heart monitor. The machine emitted strong, regular pulses. It said good things for his charge.

_She will recover. I must simply remain patient._

Amy rested her hand over his where it lay between them on the armrest of the chair. Giles turned his hand, allowing the young witch the comfort she sought. _There are other matters to occupy my attention. For instance: Buffy. There has been a change. That much is certain._

_The tangle of prophecy believed to surround the girl is staggering. Thus far, little of it has come to pass. Though, in her own peculiar way, she has maintained order, and up until recently, brought a sort of uneasy peace to this place._

_If she has indeed been given a soul, it bodes well. However, Amy is quite right. It is difficult to predict what the results will be. The only instances we have are the prophecies concerning—_

“Can we lose that?” Faith groaned and made a feeble gesture, perhaps indicating the ceiling.

Amy leapt to her feet, but Jonathan was already halfway to the door.

Giles beamed. The lights went out. As Jonathan crossed the room, Giles half-stood, leaning forward to turn on the small lamp at the head of Faith’s bed. The switch rolled in his fingertips as Giles restrained his toothy smile in favor of a more conservative grin. Inside, his heart positively leapt for joy, but he settled back into his chair to allow the others their moment of celebration.  

Amy leaned over Faith’s bed and said, “Guess I don’t have to ask how you are?”

“I feel like crap,” Faith replied brusquely.

Giles’s smile returned. _Ah, ever the poet._

“Right there with ya,” Amy muttered. Though her back was to him, Giles took the wince for a failed attempt at a smile. She didn’t waste any time getting right down to business. “Faith, flowers, card,” she said, gesturing to the nightstand. “We weren’t sure we should touch them. May I?”

_Ah, yes, that was a subject of some debate. I’m pleased she had the presence of mind to mention it. I for one am quite curious._

Faith looked where Amy indicated before she responded, “Oh, who brought those?”

Giles winked when Amy cast a glance in his direction. Returning her attention to Faith, she offered, “We were thinking Buffy, but—”

“What makes you think that?” Faith spat, and then groaned, obviously regretting her outburst.

“A couple of things just don’t add up,” Amy explained as she held her hands up, gesturing for Faith to compose herself. “Don’t stress.” She paused, allowing time for Faith to calm before pressing on. “May I look at the card?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out,” Faith grumbled. “I don’t get why she’d bring me flowers.” She adopted an obstinate pose, her arms folded tightly across her chest. As Amy tore the envelope open, Faith began to chuckle. “But then, I s’pose it’s tradition to buy a girl flowers before a meal.” At least her snide remark indicated that she did indeed feel better.

Amy snickered, but Giles suspected that she was merely placating Faith. After reading the card, she passed it to him and said, “Are you able to move?”

He glanced at the card. It bore a simple, yet promising message, ‘I’m going to fix this.’ The handwriting was undeniably Buffy’s. She’d often taunted them in the past with similar notes. He’d been given to muse that it was a pity that such lovely penmanship should be used toward so cruel and sophomoric an end. Though, that was a common trend with her.

When Faith sat up, his attention returned to her. “Yeah, I think so. Why?” she whispered.

He palmed the card. It disappeared into his pocket as he studied her. He should’ve passed it on, but decided against it. The wiser course would be to allow Amy to handle the matter. _Faith will listen to her. The card itself might inspire more debate than our current situation warrants._

Amy rested her hand on Faith’s back to comfort her. Giles found their interactions fascinating. Faith could be quite a difficult, but Amy had a way of getting through to her even when others, including himself, would fail.

The difficulty tonight was that Amy was injured. Giles was tempted to intervene, but she eventually found her voice, “’Cause you’re going to stay with Giles for a few days.”

His charge appeared quite bewildered. “But what’d the card say?” she inquired.  

Amy snickered. Again, her mirth ended in a wince and a curse. She drew in a breath to steady herself before she replied, “Rough translation from Buffy-speak: keep your head down. She plans to fix the mess she made.”

Faith furrowed her brow. Incredulous and rightly so, she asked, “And you trust her?”

Upon lowering the bedrail, Amy replied, “Not so much ‘trust,’ but I see a pattern. Two days, two attacks. Both—” She helped Faith to swing her legs over the edge. “Well, you get the idea. The advice is sound. The source is meaningless.”

Giles stood and held up a hand. “Perhaps you should wait,” he said, rounding the end of the bed. “Allow me to make the necessary arrangements. While I appreciate the sense of urgency, it might be prudent to inform the hospital staff we intend to remove a critically ill patient from their care. Doubtless they won’t like it, but there’s little they can do.”

Jonathan stepped forward to stand beside Giles. “Faith, if you want, I could go get your stuff,” he said.

Faith appeared distracted, but answered, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I’ll see you back at Giles’s then,” Jonathan confirmed.

However Giles took hold of his upper arm, halting Jonathan’s advance. “It might be wise to wait until morning,” he said. “A few hours will make little difference.”

When Jonathan looked to Faith, she echoed her watcher’s opinion, “Yeah, Giles is right. We should stick together.”

With a subtle, approving nod, Giles exited the room.


	7. Bleed Like Me

The red Trans Am lumbered through a dingy, trash-laden back alley in the industrial district of Sunnydale. No lights shone from the old car. Even so, it caught the eye. Its bright candy paint glistened in shadowy hues of orange and red. The contrast spoke of a thing that had been loved for many years in a place where nothing had been loved in as many years or more.

Buffy applied light pressure to the gas pedal. The engine returned an uneven grumble, sounding as though it might die. If it was possible for a machine to sound impatient, this one did.

_I’d almost forgotten what ‘truly spine-chilling’ felt like. Go figure, my creep-o-meter tweaks over an absence of horror._

A dilapidated streetlight flickered overhead. The windshield shimmered, frosting with a halo of dirty yellow light. She squinted to see the end of the alley where it let out into a small, broken-asphalt lot with several overflowing dumpsters.

 _Looks like bag lunch again tonight. This is tired already. Something seriously needs to give._  

Shying from the annoying light, Buffy gave her passenger a concerned glance. It worried her that Willow had barely spoken since they left the hospital. The witch sat perfectly rigid, her expression vacant. _Speaking of creepy…_

_But I suppose that’s to be expected. At least her color’s a little better._

_I mean, she has some. Probably just the—_

As they entered the cul-de-sac, a familiar sound rang out in the distance. Buffy’s heart leapt. Or rather, she had that giddy sense that made her feel as if it had. The sound marked the end of the stalemate. Like the town had finally yielded to some deep-seated need to be bad.

_Certain noises just shouldn’t seem melodic. They shouldn’t be pleasing. Like take the shrill sound of panicked screams. I shouldn’t enjoy that at all._

Buffy smiled. _I’m a sick, sick girl._

_But then, we got that memo years ago._

Another glimpse revealed that Willow had brightened too. “Now that’s the Sunnydale I know and love,” she said.

Buffy was amused that Willow sounded almost cheerful. _Glad it’s not just me._

Hammering the throttle, she whipped the steering wheel and slung the car around without hitting a single dumpster. It was an impressive piece of stunt driving for someone who had wrecked the first car she’d ever driven and many, many more since. _There are few better ways to get your death wish on._ She snickered. _But I’m mostly over it._

Once the car was under control again and pointed in the right direction, she chanced a peek in the rearview. The feeble light of the decrepit streetlamp was almost choked off by a billowing black cloud. _All it took was dealing with a few minions for me to get how much I appreciate stuff like this. Machines just do what you tell them. If you’re stupid enough to tell them to do the wrong thing, that’s on you. The Gorch Brothers are too stupid to understand what you tell them. Strange but true, I prefer the car._

 _Actually…_ “I love this car. Thanks, Will,” she said in a breathy voice. A broad smirk stretched the corners of her mouth as they careened down the narrow alley. “That was behind us, right?”

“Yeah. A couple of cross alleys back, maybe. Kinda hard to pinpoint. It’s pretty echo-y, what with all the buildings,” Willow chattered, sounding way too excited for her own good.

 _And I love it when she does that. It’s too funny._ Buffy giggled, sneaking a sidelong glance. She got a dirty look and a scolding for her trouble.

“Slow down. You don’t wanna scare them.”

Buffy let off the throttle. “You spoil all my fun,” she whined playfully. _Yeah, she has a point. I always wondered about those cop shows where the two detectives roar up in their cliché muscle car. Why didn’t the bad guys take a clue and scram? It’s not like they couldn’t hear it coming._

Peripherally, Buffy saw people moving. She stomped the clutch and brake. The tires screeched. She smashed the parking brake, simultaneously tapping the shift lever into neutral. Exiting through the window was a little too ‘Dukes of Hazzard’ for her taste, but it was also the quickest way, so she sucked it up. _I’d know that smell anywhere. Even from here, even over the trash, there’s no mistaking…_

She was on her feet, running before the car had fully stopped. _Huh, an actual damsel._ Her two targets barely had time to flinch before she was on them. _Time to play hero._ She grabbed the first man. As she peeled him from his victim, he cried out. She sent him spinning. He struck the wall with an audible crack.

The second man was restraining the girl. _Points off for breaking the damsel._ She seized him by the back of his shirt. His feet left the ground. The girl’s legs buckled the instant he released her. Buffy pitched the assailant into the wall as his victim crumpled to the ground.

Her head tilted. She faced the approaching witch. Returning the amused smile, she said, “Have fun. Save one for me.” She winked, scooped the girl up and headed straight for the car.

Willow called out from behind her, “Alright, I’ll keep them busy while you…” She trailed off without even bothering to finish her thought.

The passenger door was open. The girl slid from Buffy’s arms into the seat. She was so disheveled that Buffy spared a moment to straighten the girl’s clothes for decency’s sake before clipping the seat belt in place. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she grumbled. “Cliché more?” _Seriously, I need to get back before Will breaks them both._

  


* * *

  


Although the prospect of retrieving his car alone hadn’t thrilled Giles, his walk across the desolate car park had been uneventful. _What we’ve experienced this evening bears witness to exactly how unsafe each of us are after nightfall outside the protection of a home. Even Faith, with her talents, is no match for this new threat._

He parked his aged Citroën in the drive at the hospital’s entrance, as instructed, to await the remainder of his party. He didn’t envy the nurse who would be delivering Faith. Getting her to sit through a ride in a wheelchair would be no small feat. _Perhaps Amy will have some luck in promoting tolerance?_

Several minutes ticked idly by. Giles amused himself by humming a Bay City Rollers tune that played over his car radio. The distant roar of an engine piqued his interest. It was approaching at an alarming rate. When the source of the disturbance drew close enough to see, he turned. Any attempt to follow the red car as it hurled past might’ve resulted in whiplash. It was so loud that it drowned out the music and made the body of his car rattle.

He uttered a disapproving slur, “Bloody Americans.” In spite of his scorn, he watched the car intently as it raced the length of the building. The emergency room entrance was set at roughly a forty-five degree angle in from the building’s face with a porte-cochère to provide shelter to arriving vehicles. The car stopped beneath it. Though the front third of the car was blocked from view by the building, he could still see enough to have an idea what was going on.   

A petite blonde woman, clad all in black, threw open the driver’s door. She disappeared around the front of the vehicle. Giles suspected that she had gone inside. He was surprised when she returned to yank the passenger door open and lift another, slightly-larger woman into her arms. _Buffy?_

Without realizing what he was doing, Giles found himself standing with one foot outside his car, still clinging to the steering wheel with one hand and the open door with the other. He righted himself, shut the door and marched off down the pavement. _I must know what the devil she’s up to._ Curiosity drove him to break-neck speeds. Buffy was placing the strange woman on a gurney when he charged in through the sliding glass doors.

As he took note of the blood that flowed from a laceration on the woman’s scalp, Giles found the presence of mind to shut his gaping trap. He bought his hand up to point a finger at Buffy. Something needed to be said, but he was at a complete loss as to what. His mouth opened again, though the only sound that came out was an odd clucking. He gave up; opting to preserve what remained of his dignity.

_Bloody hell!_

“Hey, Giles,” Buffy chirruped in a tone dripping with saccharine. Punctuating, she flashed him a particularly cheeky smile and a wink.

_Pull yourself together, man! This really isn’t that alarming. One of the most vicious, cunning vampires to ever walk the earth has simply taken to performing acts of charity._

_No bother at all. One might witness such a thing any day._

_Any day that Venus is in transit accompanying a complete solar eclipse._

A doctor stood across the gurney. He looked up from his inspection of the injured woman and asked, “You said she was sexually assaulted?”

When Buffy faced the doctor, she was her usual condescending self. “That’s right, I said _rape victim_. Now, I haven’t got all night.” Only half paying attention to the befuddled physician, she fidgeted with her car keys.

_She’s still a snot-nosed brat. At least that much of her demeanor remains intact. The Earth may yet be rotating eastwardly while the furthest reaches of the heavens revolve in counter._

“How exactly can you be sure, miss?” the doctor queried.

Not mincing words, Buffy replied, “I pulled the fucker off her myself.” She gave the doctor a reproachful glare. “Look, just do your job. You can do that, right?” The question was purely rhetorical and she didn’t linger for an answer. Turning on heel, she marched past Giles and out the door, winking again en route.

The doctor attempted to call after her only to sputter, “But, miss—?”

Yet again, Giles closed his mouth. _Bugger!_ He set his jaw and swung around. His teeth ground together, causing a chill to skitter down his spine. He was quite certain that the doctor intended to ask him something. He was also equally certain that he couldn’t care less.

Oblivious to the attention she was receiving, Buffy paused to light a cigarette.

Giles thought he might stand a chance of catching up. He thought wrong. For his effort, he was rewarded with a smashing view of the rear of her car as it sped away.

His wayward voice finally reemerged. “This town grows odder by the day.”

  


* * *

  


Willow reached down and yanked the man to his feet. He wasn’t standing so well on his own anymore. _Hope I didn’t break him. Buffy won’t be pleased._

The rumble of an approaching car caught her interest. _Speaking of…_ She said, “I saved you for her, y’know?”

The man trembled. His legs were all wobbly. Willow reached out and batted him like a playful cat. He staggered sideways and caught himself on the wall, but lacking the strength to keep himself upright, he slumped down its length.

Striding over to him, she peered into his bleary eyes. “You see, my friend has this teensy little personal problem with rapists,” she said, using her sexy voice. _I worked long and hard on that, finding just the right tone. It could easily have been a parody. I could sound like some floozy from a phone sex line._

_I don’t._

_It’s perfect._

_I use it to tease my lovers and victims. Funny, how often they’ve been one and the same._

A swell of personal pride caused her to smile. _Not tonight._ She lifted the man to his feet and dusted him off. “Who knows what she’ll do to you?” she said, giggling for effect. “But look on the bright side. It should be fun to watch.”

The man made a fair show of running. Willow smacked him to his knees again, then said through a laugh, “Well, not for you.”

Buffy called down the alley, “Quit playing with my food!”

Willow gasped, “Oh!” Somehow, time had gotten away from her. She looked up, surprised to see Buffy’s face, though Willow knew full well that Buffy had been approaching. She’d heard the car. She _still_ heard the car. It sat idling at the intersection. Feeling stupid, she stammered, “Uh, yeah, well, I guess…I-I-I was bored and I, umm…he looked so lonely.”

She offered her partner a dejected little moue before bending down to seize the man. She jerked him to his feet, giving him a quick once over. He was all rumpled and dirty. And worse still, he reeked of urine. She shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry,” as she shoved him Buffy’s way.

Buffy just shook her head. Her victim stumbled and fell on his knees in front of her. He made a few mumbling, babbley noises, obviously pleading. She reached down, ripped him to standing and snarled, “Run.” Sighing loudly, she shook her head as he staggered away.

When Buffy glared at her, Willow suddenly found her feet fascinating. “Oops.” _I didn’t mean to._

Buffy took the man from behind in a blur of movement. It was over so quickly he never had a chance to scream. He crumpled to his knees.

Willow heard bones crack and didn’t know how to react. What to feel. She felt lots. It was one of the most savage things she’d ever witnessed. _And considering the night I’ve had, that’s saying something._

As Buffy dragged the corpse away by the back of his collar, Willow came to understand why there’d been no scream. The man’s throat was missing. It’d just been removed so blindingly fast she hadn’t seen it. The burbling noise he’d made was still fresh in her mind. It made her queasy. _When I said that, I really didn’t think…_

Buffy lifted the body and tossed it into the dumpster on top of the other. Licking the blood from her fingers, she announced, “Well, that was dull.”

_Not from this angle. There are big cats that don’t hunt so efficiently._

_Or I mean, there aren’t any—umm…big cats that do that so well. And that’s sorta what they do. They were created to do that. They look like they’re born to do that. Buffy looks like one of those girls who used to get caught smoking in the bathroom between classes._

_I wonder if they give detention for acts of pure predatory efficiency._

_Uh, yeah…it’s called prison._

Buffy started for the car, remarking as she went, “I wanna drop by Hellmouth High and see if any more of my little playmates are out. Then I think it’s time we went home.”

Willow was so consumed by her ongoing study of the ground at her feet that she’d completely lost track again. Rushing to catch up, she mumbled, “’Kay. Whatever. Are you sure about…well, _home_? You sure? You’re talking about the mansion home, not the hotel home, right? Home is…it’s sort of confusing now.”

Buffy moved around the car, but she didn’t climb inside. Instead, she paused and seemed to study Willow. That wasn’t even remotely helpful.

It was a good thing that most of the ickiness in the dark, smelly alley was at Willow’s feet. If not, she might’ve walked into something really gross. Her approach was consumed by a muddled mix of meaningless motivating maxims. Surprisingly, it worked. She found the nerve to meet Buffy’s gaze and hold it.

The silly door handle should’ve been to her left and just below her waistline. Willow fumbled around until her fingers bumped it, which took way too long by her reckoning.

Before she could open the door, Buffy purred, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a little surprise for my boys.” She stopped a beat to get into the car. As Willow joined her, she concluded, “They’re gonna love it.”

Once situated, Willow cast a glance Buffy’s way to assess her mood. It was hard to tell. Buffy was hot and cold. She was absently wiping blood from around her mouth. _Hot now._

_Really hot…_

Buffy suggestively suckling her fingers didn’t help. Willow changed tack, trying to ignore the show by fastening her seatbelt. _’Kay, so…from ‘really intimidating, scary Buffy’ to ‘oh my God, sexy Buffy’ in umm…less time than, uh—_

_So! Limerick?_

_Woozy? Umm…yeah, definitely woozy. ’Kay, ‘woozy’ it is…_

_There once was a girl who was woozy. She had a problem and was it ever a doozy._

_Not bad. Uh…_

_Next stanza. My problem: cute, blonde and petite…_

_So what rhymes with petite?_

_Pretty much everything rhymes with petite._

Willow snickered softly to herself. _Not really. Not ‘everything,’ but there are lots of possibilities._

_Elite, sweet, beat, defeat, meet, conceit…? Sweet’s not bad. But ‘Buffy’ and ‘sweet’ in the same sentence? There may be laws._

_Well, there’s ‘small.’ That’s a different option. Trouble is, if there’s one thing Buffy isn’t, it’s small. She’s smallish in size, hence the ‘petite,’ but—_

_She’s so dynamic. Larger than life. That’s such a tired thing to say, but it’s true. If that phrase fits anyone, it’s her._

_Thing is, none of this really has anything to do with my problem. Love is blind. It’s also deaf, dumb and arguably a bit mentally ill in this case._

Willow grinned. _Just a smidge…_

_This has to end with ‘choosy.’ How do I even get there through a puddle of sap?_

_There’s no other option. Well, there’s Jacuzzi. Anything that ends with a Jacuzzi can’t be all bad. But this…?_

_This is…_

_Floozy?_

_No. Buffy’s as unfloozyish as they come. My life would be lots less hellish if she h ad a libi…_

_That’s it!_

_This is Hell._

_Caught in a spell…she went straight to Hell. But even Hell can be Heaven if you’re not choosy._

_Too bad ‘lucky’ doesn’t rhyme. Let’s see, lucky, plucky, ducky, uh…Kentucky. Yeah, umm…no…_

_Heaps of ‘no.’_

_And this isn’t really helpful. She’s just so…_

_But she isn’t the one who’s acting like a complete weirdo. I am._

_What would be normal?_

Willow realized she was doing it again. This time her hands were interesting. She looked up. Buffy was smirking. _Engaging her in normal conversation instead of talking to yourself like complete a freak might be a good start. Well, not so much ‘talking to,’ as lost. Totally lost._

_Uh…_

“What sorta surprise?” Willow asked. _I care, but don’t. Is that bad?_

_It’s probably bad. Very bad. How many vamps does she have working for her?_

_Too many._

_Uh, yeah…very bad._

“You’ll see,” Buffy replied in a silky voice. She scooched around, sitting sideways in her seat. Comprehension dawned on her face. She asked, “Will, why’s your hair still black? Didn’t—I mean, it did work, right?”

Willow grabbed a lock of her hair and brought it in front of her eyes to check. She was clueless too. _I feel like crap, but my hair? It’s black?_

_Oh! ‘Work,’ I get it now._

Willow filled in as best she could. “I guess it would’ve, but I wouldn’t. I mean, I just couldn’t. It’s not right. I’ll get rid of this on my own.” She realized she was only half making sense. The expression on Buffy’s face made that perfectly clear. Sighing, she stared at her hands and mumbled, “I’m with you. I-l just…I can’t.” Her hands were trembling. She clutched them together, struggling to make it stop.

Several moments passed at a crawl. Willow remained focused on her hands. The wait worried her. She expected to be moving by now. _I hope I didn’t say something wrong._

_Another limerick, maybe?_

_Anything…_

_There once was a girl who was smitten. By this gorgeous, intense, captivating vampire she’d been—_

_Way too many adjectives. Settling on one might be good. But she’s just so—_

Buffy rested her hand over Willow’s. It blew Willow away when she felt it tremble. _She just ripped a man’s throat out with that hand. Now it’s shaking? Over what?_

_She can’t be wigging over me. Can she?_

She looked up, turning to face Buffy and froze. _Uh…_

Beautiful blue eyes met hers. _There’s just a hint of green. And that smile, it’s so sweet._ Willow wanted to weep, but she wasn’t given the time.

Buffy leaned in to whisper, “I’m not sure how this stuff’s supposed to work.” Her smile brightened, filled with amusement. “Not much of a second date—might be the worst ever—but maybe…”

_Maybe?_

_It’s a total misconception that vampires don’t breathe. It’s just that we don’t need to except to speak. People don’t get that. They never see enough to know. We don’t give them a chance._

_I know. Her breath just caressed my skin. It was warm. Surprisingly so._

_And her lips, not cold and dead, but gentle, tender and warm. Salty, coppery…_

_Bloody kisses. It sounds horrible, but it’s one of the most beautiful, sensuous, erotic…_

Grateful, Willow surrendered to the flood of emotion. Her body was all fuzzy, disconnected and distant. She put every ounce of anything she had left into this one, all important, wholly consuming act. The kiss was the only thing in her world that mattered. Soft lips caressed hers. She echoed each movement. Their tongues entwined, stroking, lingering, teasing, playing… Metallic and sweet with just a hint of smokiness. The rich flavors married with hers, creating something new and wonderful.  

It was perfect, only not.

The desire to be closer took over. Barely conscious of her actions, she lifted Buffy and slid her across the console. What snapped Willow out of it was the loss, brief and terrible. The kiss was broken. Hungry lips moved to her neck. She groaned. Her hands were—

_Uh…_

_Where they shouldn’t be._

_Oops!_

Willow trailed her naughty hands down Buffy’s sides, placing them firmly around her waist. _I’m amazed she hasn’t bitten me. I deserve it._

_And I’m really shocked she missed the shifter. I’m usually not that graceful. Putting the car in gear would’ve—_

_Oh, my…_

_Umm…_

_She smells so…and that feels—_

Buffy paused.

_No!_

_More please! I’ll be good!_

The eyes that met Willow’s were green now. _Hungry. Yellow and blue…_

_That’s probably it. I’m an after dinner snack for the predator._

Buffy smiled. All of the sweetness was gone. Only the soft blonde hair that framed her face remained unchanged. _No, that’s not it at all. She loves me. There’s no way she could—_

_Not after…_

_She just wants me. I’m dessert._

_Or maybe an after dinner mint. The kind that’s all confectioners’ sugar and peppermint oil. Gone in thirty seconds. Only the taste lingers._

Buffy’s expression changed. Some of the desire faded, giving way to concern. She leaned in. Her lips touched Willow’s cheek. _My skin’s damp?_

_But when did I—?_

_So much for not having time. I’m crying. I guess…time’s really not—_

Sweet, loving kisses covered Willow’s cheeks. She wanted to wipe her eyes, but disturbing Buffy was unthinkable.

_Time’s meaningless._

Their lips met again. Buffy’s kiss was timid now, like that first time, gentle and chaste. _Last night. It’s so hard to believe that was just last night. Only instead of me, now it’s her asking for permission she already has._

Willow didn’t stand for it. It was wrong. She deepened the kiss, coaxing the desire she’d just witnessed out again. It wasn’t hard to find. She wanted to be consumed by it. What she found didn’t disappoint.

Buffy’s grip tightened. It was painful. The kiss became rough, almost agonizing. Like she was feeding.

Willow melted into it, conforming to Buffy’s will. It was so sexual, completely visceral. Willow felt that she’d been swept away by a force of nature. One of Buffy’s teeth cut her tongue. Willow didn’t care. The blood deepened the frenzy.

Buffy’s attention drifted. She moved to Willow’s neck. A slight pinch sent her reeling away. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”

Willow would’ve killed to make it continue. Deep feelings of loss had already set in. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop the big, silly grin that was stretching the corners of her mouth. Buffy wigging was just too funny. “I’m not,” she said through a giggle. _Wow! Uh, yeah…_

_I can wait. I’ll be fine!_

_Umm…_

Her eyes fluttered open. The way Buffy looked surprised her. She expected the demon, but what she got was a confused girl with baby doll features and golden eyes to match her hair.

The windows were fogged. It was like being in a bubble. The only lights came from the dash. The engine rumbled. Willow had forgotten it was on. The sound had become a soothing purr in the background. It was warm and comfy inside the car.

Willow brought her hand to her neck. Despite the warmth, she realized that every bone in her body ached. She removed the rumpled scarf so it wouldn’t get stained. Then she felt the wound. It wasn’t bad, just a couple of scratches. The rest of her, on the other hand, felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a fyarl demon. _Traction may be a thing. But it’s okay. I heal fast now._

After slipping the scarf into her pocket, she moved her legs and groaned. _I kinda forgot about those. I may need them. Maybe…_

Before she got what was happening, Buffy was back on her side of the car.

Willow turned her head. It hurt, but she was surprisingly lucid. Her mind was clear. All of the jumbled thoughts were gone. 

Buffy glanced and looked away, ashamed. A second later, she did a double take. A warm smile brightened her face, but it faded, giving way to something else.

Willow was still grinning like an idiot. _I feel like an idiot. Stupid people are always happy. Or mostly. Maybe they’re just too stupid to understand that they should be upset?_

_I’m totally in touch with that._

The look Buffy was giving her was funny. One eyebrow arched, it appeared as though she might be studying something particularly strange.

Willow lost it. She busted up laughing. When she calmed enough to see straight, Buffy was all business.

“I dunno if we’re gonna have time to go home tonight,” Buffy said as she scanned the dash, obviously looking for something. Frustration set in. “What time is it?” she asked. “I need to—”

Sobering, Willow poked Buffy’s ribs and pointed to the LED clock on the aftermarket stereo. _Wow! It’s been two…almost two and a half hours since she dropped me off. I get the half hour, but what happened to the rest?_

Still lost and appearing annoyed, Buffy twitched. It took her a moment to understand what Willow was pointing at. Finally, Buffy followed the gesture. Her attention fixed on the digital display.

 _I’ll cut her some slack. That clock’s way overly tiny. The designer should be horsewhipped._   

No less annoyed, Buffy said, “Okay…duh.” She shook her head. “Thanks.” Sighing, she stalled, apparently collecting her thoughts. “So, it’s three a.m. We’ve got almost three hours. It might be enough. If not, we’ll hit it first thing tomorrow. I’d like to do it late. They’ll be more off balance, so we really need to motor.” She flipped the levers for the heater control until the defroster came on.

The ache was passing and the quiet was relaxing. Willow listened to the ambient sounds of the car, just enjoying the peace. Eventually, she whispered, “It’s okay, y’know? You didn’t hurt me.” She smiled. “Or you didn’t hurt me in a bad way.”

Buffy mumbled, “I know,” sounding distracted.

Willow didn’t open her eyes. She reached out and found Buffy’s hand on the console. Gently taking it, Willow asked, “What do you feel?”

“When?” Clearly in need of clarification, Buffy added, “You mean right now?”

The tone of her voice told Willow two things: the question had come as a shock and she had Buffy’s attention. Both were good. _‘When’ really isn’t important. That should be obvious. What she should be asking is why I want to know. I wonder how long it’s been since someone cared enough to ask._  

Willow gave as vague an answer as she dared. “Right now. A few minutes ago. Whenever. I’m just curious about you.”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel lots of things. That’s pretty amazing for me.” Buffy snickered. It was an uneasy sound. Willow gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Rolling the back of her head against the headrest of her seat, Willow turned. The gentle pressure felt good, but being relaxed felt even better. She opened her eyes.

Buffy appeared deeply thoughtful as she whispered, “Desired, but not in a bad way.” She scrunched her eyes shut, held them for a sec, and then blinked them open. Her attention turned to Willow. She concluded, “Loved.”

The sentiment really threw Willow for a loop. It was beautiful. Just the word. The way it sounded. Willow smiled. She dwelled on that for several moments. “Why the snicker?” she asked.

Buffy put the car in gear. Reaching down, she popped the emergency brake. As the car crept forward, she replied, “Because for me, loved was the last thing I ever expected to feel. Hated and feared—those things are lots closer.”

“Do you know what I feel?” Willow asked, careful to restrain her voice. It seemed like the best way to keep Buffy’s interest. Force her to focus.

“Tell me.”

_Sad, I think the moment’s passed. She seems way more interested in driving than in me._

Willow smiled and loosened her seatbelt. Turning at an angle in her seat, she leaned against the door, facing her partner. “The same thing you do,” she murmured, meeting the glance she knew was coming. They locked eyes, only for an instant.

_It’s enough._


	8. The Alpha of My Eye

_I need a great big, majorly lengthy time-out. Someone better cue an intermission quick ’cause my head’s about to explode._

The sucky part was the intermission had already passed and Buffy knew it. There’d been roughly fifteen minutes of smothering silence that’d occurred on the drive between the alley where Frick and Frack had bought it and the remote spot where she wanted to enter the sewers. That was it. All the peace she was likely to get. Pity her peace couldn’t have actually been peaceful. It’d come with heaps of tension. Industrial strength tension so persistent it still loomed like the proverbial raincloud over her head.

She turned a corner into yet another branch of the gloomy, dank, smelly, rat-infested algae farm. Her surroundings didn’t change. They weren’t going to change. _Ah, beautiful, scenic Sunnydale, the subterranean tour. Boy, this place brings back memories._

 _None of them good. But then the ambiance totally fits the confusing, creepy, craptastic night I’ve had._

Buffy allowed herself a breather. The sloshy clop, clop, clop of Willow’s heels echoed through the tunnel behind her. _And yeah, there’s her._

 _It’s sad. She’s about as good at being a vampire as I am at being human._

Water droplets rained from the ceiling, splashing her leather jacket, misting her face and motivating her to stop standing around.

 _What the hell’s my malfunction?_

Willow caught up.They walked together side-by-side in some semblance of silence. _You mean besides the fact that I used the L-word? I must be losing my mind. I swear it took forever for my stomach to stop chasing its tail._ The truly annoying part was that Buffy found Willow’s klutziness damnably cute.

 _This is just wrong. I don’t do the swoony schoolgirl act._

She let out an exasperated sigh that was infinitely less stealthy than anything Willow had done so far. The curious glance her slipup cost was bad enough. Before Willow could get around to asking, ‘Are you okay?’ or something else equally lame, Buffy picked up the pace.

Willow was forced to run to keep up. And that was the point. Being examined on any level was enough to make Buffy crazy. She needed space, so she took it.

 _Course my avoidance issues have avoidance issues. I avoid my avoidance issues…and anyone else who trips them. It’s a thing._

The intersection came up. Buffy ducked down the right passageway. _Now, lucky me, I have her. And I **so** don’t get it._

This tunnel wasn’t like the others. No one engineered it. Being natural, it snaked around with no rhyme or reason. That wasn’t a problem for Buffy. She followed the path with near-mechanical precision.

 _I thought I had this shit figured. But with her, it’s not a simple matter of attraction. If it was, I could totally blow it off. But that’s not it. Not all. Not even close._

Keeping up had become a problem for Willow. A really noisy one. _Y’know, it’s not her fault I’m a walking cliché. I should lay off._

Buffy dialed her pace down to a brisk walk. That was all the charity she could muster. _And I might, just as soon as I get over this deep case of denial I’ve been cultivating._

 _I keep waiting for the punchline to drop. Like I don’t know what’s up. Like I can’t see. Like I haven’t been over this countless times in my head. It’s pathetic._

The passage swung left and narrowed. Buffy turned sideways to slip through the crevasse and a large cavern opened up in front of her. She paused to look over the ledge. This was a junction. Including the one she’d just emerged from, six passageways, on two different levels, met in this chamber.

She considered giving Willow a little more time to catch up, but decided that it wouldn’t matter either way. The cavern wasn’t exactly small. And the ledge wasn’t exactly big. She figured that, in the time it took for her to reach the other side, Willow would show up. And ‘one at a time’ really was the best way to tackle this.

 _I remember years ago. What I saw when we first met. I could’ve killed her then. And I would’ve if she hadn’t been so damn perfect…so hung up on a ridiculous pile of trivial crap, she was completely blind to the big picture. It was such an easy game to play. All she wanted was someone to believe in her, someone to care. I did care. I cared about what she could do for me._

 _I took all of her potential and spun it. The fact that she scares me—that’s on me. I was the one who made her crazy. Who knows what she’d be without me? She could’ve changed the world._

 _She nearly did. She damn near destroyed it._

Buffy reached her destination and stopped. _No clue how I feel about that. Right now it’s just too much to deal with._

Things had worked out exactly the way Buffy’d predicted. Willow was making her way around the ledge, but it was gonna take a few. Buffy patted herself down, searching for her smokes and finding none of the usual bulges. _Shit. I must’ve left them in the car._

 _Oh well._

 _Hope she’s coping better than I am._

 _Somehow I doubt it. She’s awful quiet. That’s never a good sign._

Buffy reached out and Willow took her hand, giving it a light squeeze. The smile Willow gave her came as a surprise. It was almost convincing. _Yeah, she’s probably just busy defusing her own meltdown._

They went about twenty feet before the tunnel merged back into the city sewers. A minor contortionist act was required to pass through the broken block wall without getting filthy.

 _When things get like this, I play a game of mental hopscotch where I jump from one totally frustrating thing to the next. Next square. Next thing. I’ve got this tiny, nagging voice in my head asking, ‘Since when am I gay?’_

 _Could I be more ridiculous? That’s a speck, a speed bump, barely a blip on my radar, a crumb on the mountain of crap I have to deal with; so of course, I’m all over it. I’m just that kind of girl._

The tunnel ended at another broken block wall. Buffy slipped through the gap, leading Willow into a small storage room piled full of dusty crap.

 _But it makes me wonder if a soul can be tampered with. Is there a warranty? Can I get a refund if mine’s defective due to mishandling wherever they keep them?_

Buffy led the way around stacks of boxes and opened the door. A huge, grungy furnace that looked like it’d been around since Prohibition took up most of the next room. She slipped past it and passed through another door. It was easy going now. The rooms and halls below the school were fluid, so she followed her nose. Evil called out to evil.

 _Where do they keep them? There has to be a place. I’d love to be there for inventory. Might be funny._

 _How can I even be sure I got the right one? Are they cataloged? Did Tara screw up and give me the wrong one? I could be running around with the soul of some pubescent boy._

 _Who knows, it might not even be a screw up. She probably would’ve found that funny._

A couple of rooms and a long corridor of many pointless turns later, they arrived at a dead end. Buffy could feel the Hellmouth not twenty feet away. _This place is just trying to make me grumpy._ She briefly considered making her own door. _Good thought, but that’d never work. Not if this thing doesn’t want me near._ She turned around. Briefly meeting Willow’s eyes, Buffy rolled her own. _Well, hell._ Shaking her head, she headed back the way they came.

 _Y’know, the fact that I’m wigging really isn’t all that surprising. With a history like ours, running with scissors would be cake…and so much saner._

 _So, what exactly is it that I want? Do I want to ignore this? Could I walk away and not regret it?_

Considering how that might be made her ache inside. She slowed down enough to take Willow’s hand. _No. I’m with her for a reason…not that I have a clue what it is. She scares the holy living hell out of me._

When they reached the second room this side of the furnace room, it had changed. Nothing drastic, it was still a storeroom. There was just different junk on different shelves. All that Buffy cared about was the _different_ door she spied on the right wall behind a mountain of crap. She made a beeline for it.

 _I need to get over it. Admit that I care and move on. Follow this wherever it takes me. That’s what I said I’d do. And that’s what I need to do. Anything else would be—_

 _I’m not a coward._

A few more rooms and a short hallway later, they hit paydirt. Buffy didn’t need to see the unbroken concrete slab to know that the gateway remained buried and inactive. She was so connected to this thing that she’d felt it long before they’d stepped foot in the school.

Buffy whispered, “The Hellmouth.” She didn’t need to say the words either. They just slipped out. The reverence felt right. Footprints marred the dusty concrete floor. “Someone’s been here.”

 _That’s not good._

 _But they couldn’t possibly know. And even if by some freaky coincidence they do, all I’ve gotta do is stay on track. One step at a time. They won’t live long enough to become a problem._

“At least four,” Willow confirmed. “Maybe five.” She studied the floor, picking out the individual patterns. “Nice thought on the concrete. It adds a complication.”

 _Not nearly enough of one, but it’s the best idea I had. I sure wasn’t gonna leave this thing the way I found it. A single nutcase is all it would’ve taken to open it then._

 _A single nutcase could still open it, but they’d have to be totally off their meds to get the job done. It’d take a bloodbath of Saw proportions now._

 _There’s no way to get around the fact that concrete’s porous. Adding ‘a complication’ was the best I could do._

Briefly meeting Willow’s gaze, Buffy said, “I had the minions and—well, there’s not much sense in leaving that seal…” pausing, she mocked thoughtfulness “…what is it…” she studied the floor to hide the fact that she was struggling to keep a straight face “…the Seal of Damn-Bizarre, hidden under a few scoops of dirt.”

Without missing a beat, Willow replied helpfully, “The Seal of Danthazar,” turning to smile at Buffy. Her smile faded as she looked down.

Buffy sized Willow up with a glance. _Good, you see them too. Those cracks—they won’t get smaller._ _Give it another month and I’ll be back here with more concrete and rebar. It’s become a really boring, totally annoying hobby. This thing just doesn’t like to be hidden._

Willow started, “Thing is—” It came as a relief when Willow stopped short.

 _Thing is—the only thing that matters—if anyone’s gonna spill this giant piñata of unholy fun, it’s me. I’ve done everything I could to keep it that way. Dotted my ‘i’s, crossed my ‘t’s…_

Buffy had her hands full. This thing was eating her up inside. She counted her blessings that she couldn’t blush. _Checked off the days on my calendar. I had it all planned._

 _Now?_

“I dunno,” Willow mumbled. Her thoughts were gelling and that made Buffy really uneasy.

 _Not so much._ But that other thing was so much worse and Willow was a good distraction. Buffy choked down the major case of the heebie-jeebies she had going on and listened attentively, curious what Willow was on to.

“It’s just—it seems—the details are _wrong_ ,” Willow stammered. “If this is what they’re after, then why all of the fuss over Faith? She’s hardly a threat. And if they want to kill her, why mess with this? Why not just do it? Did they just come here for the atmosphere—to soak up a few evil rays? I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but these girls seriously need a life coach. That is, unless I’m missing something.”

There was no question that Buffy’s world had been turned topsy-turvy. Normally all this yammering would’ve made her crazy, but this time it set her at ease. She even found the pause and the head shake endearing.

“Am I missing something?” Willow asked.

 _Clueless._

 _But why we’re here, looking at this, that makes perfect sense. All you’ve gotta do is ask the right questions. And I’m **so** not looking forward to that. She’ll eventually get there. She’s too smart not to. Bringing her here—that was just dumb. I shouldn’t have been so transparent._

On the surface, Buffy was all confusion. She offered her hand to Willow. “I dunno either,” she said, “but yeah, nothing here. Let’s motor. We can check back tomorrow.”

She didn’t quite run out the door. _If she asks, I can blame the hastiness on the time crunch._

 _Right now I need to stay on point. I’ve got major damage control issues. First up, we need a base of operations. And I can’t think of a better place. All the comforts of home…_

 _Besides, I need to cut off my right arm before he gets a clue. Luke’s not a very bright boy. Odds are pretty much against him ever having a moment of clarity. But there’s also this thing with the universe hating me. I’m not gonna push my luck, ’cause let’s face it, you don’t get to be over three-hundred years old by being a complete idiot._

 _Then we destroy an army. My army. Somewhere in there, we need to keep the slayer and her lackeys alive._

 _No big. Just another day at the office._

  


* * *

  


The slightest movement stirred a frenzy. Flies, dozens of them, maybe even hundreds, swarmed around Eve. Buzzing filled her ears. She batted the air, trying in vain to shoo them away.

Attempting to flee sent her sprawling. A squishy lump of something cold and sticky pressed against her cheek. She lifted up and stared at the piece of meat.

Recoiling, she floundered onto her back. The numbness in her body was replaced by burning pain. Something was terribly wrong.

Her mind flooded with one muddled, jumbled, mixed up thing after another. Amid the commotion, a memory repeated, lingered and stuck. The woman wore a sour expression that spoiled her looks. Sugary sweet or full of bile, Eve wouldn’t have given a cuss either way. Rage boiled up inside of her. “Buthy,” she hissed.

The lisp startled her. She brought her hand to her cheek. The left side of her face hung limp. No matter what she tried, the muscles wouldn’t work.

She labored her body into a sitting position. Her left arm wouldn’t straighten and her right hand wouldn’t close. She looked down, grappling with what she saw. Beneath the bloody crust that covered her skin, there was so much wrong that she couldn’t take it all in at once.

Rising was a fool’s game that only riled the flies. Eve landed flat on her back on the slippery tar roof. Her body had become a banquet for all manner of filthy things. Sickness crawled in her gut.

Flipping over was the last thing she’d intended, but she was still a fool. Her last ounce of hope dwindled as she stared at the chunk of meat that lay inches from her nose. She understood. _Oh God! That’s part of me!_

She retched up just enough bile to coat her throat. The coughing fit lasted a lifetime. And the time after—lying in the gore, listening to the insects, feeling them creep over her skin—a lifetime more. Try as she might, there were answers that wouldn’t come. But enough remained for her to get the gist.

 _Why am I still here when by all rights I should be fertilizing the roses? And if there was a God, I would be. But never you mind, I’ll be fine come daybreak._

Her thoughts turned to Buffy. A deep, powerful hatred welled up inside her.

 _Who knew you could find clarity in Hell?_

  


* * *

  


Jonathan rested his elbow against the breakfast bar and propped his head in his hand. He’d already faded into the woodwork. Most times it didn’t bother him that the others forgot he was there. _Okay, so…maybe a little, but it gives me a chance to think. And if I have something to say, they usually listen._

 _Well, sometimes I have to say it twice._

He stared half at Amy and half at the wall. He’d learned that trick in school. If he didn’t look right at the person, they usually didn’t notice. She worried him. Her eyelids were a sickly shade of bluish-black and really thick. She could only open them a crack. _There’s a pop culture reference here somewhere, but damned if I can find it. The only thing that comes to mind is Rocky Balboa. And boy, is that lame._

 _Goes to show how great I’m doing. And I’m not alone. We’re all pretty rough, but Amy takes the cake. She’s barely keeping her head up, but she won’t leave Faith’s side, even if it means sitting on the arm of the couch._

 _I’ve known her for years and I’ve never seen her act this way. If anything, she’s a ‘me’ person. I get that she cares—we all do—but this just a little weird. What difference would four feet make? That’s all it’d take to get her in a comfy chair._

Jonathan glanced at Faith who occupied the rest of the couch. He could barely see her behind Amy. It made the image that she might be protecting Faith all that much stronger.

But the real show in the room was Giles. Jonathan glanced at him and cracked a grin. He paced back and forth in the space between the coffee table and his old chair, gesturing animatedly and making a show of being all too British. “That’s correct, I said ‘Buffy’,” he affirmed.

Faith was playing her role as the skeptic to a tittle. “You can’t be serious?” she grumbled.

As the turn happened and the steps took place, Jonathan recited, _‘Slowly I turned. Inch-by-inch. Step-by-step.’_ It was all he could do not to snicker. _Way to drive it home, Giles._ The earnestness written all over his face was a total snark-magnet.

“I’m quite serious,” Giles said.

 _He’s serious alright. Seriously losing it. That vein in his temple’s totally funny. I could take his pulse from here. It’s like a countdown clock, ticking away the seconds. One last throb and his head goes ‘boom!’_

Shame Faith didn’t take the bait. That might’ve been funny. Her stating the obvious in a way that suggested she’d sooner buy that ‘Jessica Simpson had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian work with Maxim’ was just annoying, “But that would mean she’s really hitting for our side now.”

 _This is like watching someone try to pound a nail into a diamond._

Amy shrugged, completely blocking Jonathan’s view of Faith for a moment. When the slayer reappeared, she looked a little more relaxed. It almost seemed like progress, which immediately made Jonathan suspicious.

“I dunno,” Amy said. “I’d take this with a grain of salt. Buffy’s been ensouled—that much is true—but I’m still not convinced that the rest isn’t a game.” She combed her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “We shouldn’t see this as some guarantee that she’s magically become all noble and good.” She moved her hand and her hair fell. “There are plenty of people out there now—people-people…the human type—that are totally evil, with their souls right where they should be. Look at her witch if you need an example.”

While Amy sounded really bad, Jonathan had to admit she had a point. _A pretty common point, but who’s counting? I think she deserves ‘points’ for still being upright._

Giles sat down in his recliner, which was better, but that didn’t curb his flair for the dramatic. “Yes, but she brought an injured, bleeding victim into the hospital, Amy.” At each adjective, his tone turned staccato and he clapped his fist into his palm.

Jonathan nearly lost it. _‘Of all the cantinas, in all the space ports, in all the galaxy, she walks into mine.’_

 _Talk about drama…_

His spiel resumed a heartbeat later, losing none of its fervor, “She was having enough difficulty that I’m certain the doctor believed her to be a junkie.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair. At least the ‘animated gesture’ part of the sermon was over. “From the gauntness of her face and the way she was trembling, I suspect she was starving. I wonder what she’s been feeding on.”

 _He should consider going into public speaking. That was about as riveting as the last State of the Union Address. I’m really glad it was shorter._

 _Whatever. It was just as pointless._ “What difference does that make?” Jonathan said, smirking when the entire room jumped.

The glare Giles gave him was unnerving to the fourth power. “It makes all the difference,” he insisted.

Jonathan refused to look away. _“_ Not really,” he replied. “Not from where I sit.” The coolness in his tone made him proud. “Not with us in here and them out there.” He had their full attention now and he drove his point home. “Who really cares what Buffy’s been feeding on? It’s not like we’re doing anything about it.”

Giles nodded and to Jonathan’s surprise, capitulated, “Touché.”

That was fine, but Faith left Jonathan feeling like he’d just eaten his shoe. “I’d love to run right out and take care of that for ya, but so far, it’s been suicide.” Her tone was past dry. She gave him a dirty look and turned away.

 _Jeez-o-petes! That’s not what I was suggesting._

And of course, Amy just had to play peacemaker. “No, Jonathan’s right,” she said. “We should be doing something.” She rose and went to one of the many bookshelves. He didn’t see how she could possibly know what she was looking for, but she scanned the titles nonetheless. “I’m thinking research. We can help by figuring out what they want.” She even took one down before she asked the standard question, “So, what do we know?”

 _What I know is that if Buffy really is trying to help—and I need to believe she is—it might be a good thing to actually talk to her._

Faith replied, “We know I feel—”

Jonathan was only half curious what she had to say. He was kind of grateful when she broke off. _Enough’s been said already._ _This has turned into another battle of the sexes. Slayer and Witch versus Tweed Man and the Boy Blunder. It’s a fight our side rarely wins because I can never seem to say the right thing and Giles gets so worked up it’s hard to take him seriously._

Faith went on, “Sorry, _we_ feel like we’ve been hammered.” She yawned. The act made her wince. “I’m thinking sleep. We’re all way too burned out to deal with this crap. It’s nothing that won’t keep till morning.”

 _She has a point._ Point or not, Jonathan went on listing what was known—not that he planned to share…or that anyone would even want to hear it if he did. _We know she hasn’t attacked any of us. And she’s had plenty of opportunity. I get that the other slayer-vamps are a huge issue, but the two things aren’t related._

 _Well, they are. Buffy kinda made the mess with that spell. But they aren’t, because she wants to fix it. She said so. I get that her word isn’t exactly solid, but I think she meant it. There’s just too much that points to a change that night at the vineyard._  

The girls were moving. He sort of half-watched them peripherally as he stared at his hands. Faith turned onto her side and gestured for Amy.

 _What was it she said? I don’t remember it exactly, but she made a big show of how the slayer-vamps moved, including Buffy. ‘Like nothing I’ve ever seen.’ That’s close._

 _If that’s the case, why’s she still here? I mean, I’m glad she’s here, but we’ve been assuming that they want to kill her. Why haven’t they? She got stabbed. I don’t know how to say this without pissing her off, but why in the stomach if killing was the goal?_

 _And the vamp at the hospital. Why’d she bother to bite Faith? Why not just break her neck?_

 _What if they want Faith injured, not dead? What would they want her for?_

Jonathan looked up to find that everyone was packing it in. The girls had managed to arrange themselves on the couch together. Amy’s head and Faith’s feet were on the end nearest him. Amy lay with her head on Faith’s thigh. Faith’s other leg was straight, hanging over the arm of the couch. Her head lay on a pillow. Amy’s legs were bent, so her feet weren’t in Faith’s face.

They looked cozy. He was tempted to get them a blanket, but held off.

Faith appeared to be watching Giles. He hadn’t moved from his chair. Big surprise, he had another old book in his hand. Faith didn’t even notice the attention she was receiving.

Jonathan took a chance. Careful to keep his tone neutral, he asked, “What if they weren’t trying to kill you?”

Without so much as a glance, Faith remarked, “It sure looked that way from my seat.”

“I get that,” Jonathan whispered. He cleared his throat. Everyone except Amy was watching him now. It made him nervous, but he pressed on, careful to make himself clear. “I’m not trying to upset you. I know you’ve been through a lot. But just think about it for a minute. What else could they want?”

Silence hung thick for a few moments before Giles stood up. He moved to the bookshelf and looked over it briefly, drawing down one of the Watcher’s diaries. “The lad may have a point,” he offered fairly.

Jonathan was curious where Giles was going with this. _It was just an idea. Hopefully, he’ll run with it._

Giles opened the book and began to scan the pages. As he read, he spoke stream-of-consciousness, “What we are failing to account for is the slayer element, in all of these cases. It is possible that part of Buffy’s reaction may be based on the introduction of that very thing. What the other slayers might want with Faith is still a mystery. Perhaps they sought to turn her?”

 _Okay, so…not so much run, but—_

  _Oh God! ‘Turn her.’ That’s it! She wasn’t turned!_

Jonathan’s attention turned to the corner of the room. He stared at the ‘scythe.’ “Possibly, but I’m thinking bigger.”

Faith picked up on his thought as she followed his gaze. “Oh, you’ve gotta be shittin’ me!”

Dim yellow light reflected off the polished red blade of the bardiche. Jonathan couldn’t take his eyes off the thing. A creepy chill ran down his spine. He shuddered. _This is it. It has to be._

Part of him was excited, but it didn’t come through when he murmured, “Think about it.” _Giles chewed enough scenery for the two of us._ _Besides, I’m way too tired. We all are._

Very plainly and softly he stated what they all knew. “Buffy was supposed to be this great force for good, the final guardian of the Hellmouth. There’s even a prophecy about her. ‘An innocent born in a land of broken dreams…’ ” A lump formed in his throat. He swallowed. “Instead she became the greatest evil this place has ever known. Her goals are their goals. All they need is you…” he nodded to Faith “…and that,” then to the artifact in the corner.

 _They know I’m right. She wasn’t turned._

  


* * *

  


Another moment’s peace was all Eve wanted. She looked up at the starlit sky, focusing on that and nothing else.

 _I used to believe, when I was little, that the stars were pinpricks in the veil between Heaven and Earth and the light that shone through was God. I’m not sure where I got the notion, but I spent hours stargazing. The feeling that God’s light was shining down on me was…_

 _And look at me now._ She gulped in tight breaths, hiccoughing as tears drizzled from the corners of her eyes.

 _I don’t want to die. Not now. Not like this._ Breathing was about as useless as a back pocket on a shirt. _I have to pull myself together._

 _I can’t stand, but I can crawl._ Purposeful or not, her attempt to turn over was clumsy. All of her thrashing disturbed the flies. She flopped face-first into the muck. The roof’s edge wasn’t far. Pain that had dulled burned fresher with each movement. Cold tar stuck to her skin as she squirmed, pulling, chafing, grating…

Eventually she inched her way to the edge, lined up as best she was able and tumbled off. She crashed down, flat on her back, in the mulch between the wall and a manicured hedgerow. Several agonizing moments passed before she could move—and many, many more before she rose—but she did. She had to. She had to try again and again until she found a way.

Her right arm hung lame. She raised it with her left. Another wave of understanding reduced her knees to mush. Her bicep had failed to reattach before the skin grew back. It was all she could do not to collapse. She finally calmed enough to take step. Her left knee refused to bend and the leg itself was shorter now than her right.

The hedges were taller at the corner of the building. Eve hoped they would provide cover, but anything beat standing around with her boobs sticking out. She hobbled there to wait. _I need to wake up and smell the coffee. Vengeful thoughts are all well and good, but I can’t face Buffy like this. She’d rip me apart. I need help. And there just ain’t none. If I return to the others, they’ll kill me. That might even be a mercy. But it won’t have anything to do with mercy. They’ll kill me for failin’._

 _I don’t want to die._

It took ages, but a young woman eventually passed by. _I can’t see how, but she doesn’t even know I’m here._

Eve seized her prey from behind, but before she could stop it, the girl let out a panicked scream. Eve almost cut her losses right then. If she was discovered, she wouldn’t be able fight and she sure couldn’t run. Desperation gripped her as she tore into the woman’s neck. The blood that pumped from the wound was too precious to pass up. She drank deeply.

This might’ve meant freedom to Eve, but collecting the spoils would take time. She glanced at the keys that had fallen from the woman’s hand. _She might have a car, but I’d have to find it._

 _I can’t take that risk._

When she could milk nothing more from the corpse, she let it fall and fled.


	9. Breaking the Chain

The road stretched out before them like a black ribbon snaking through the forest. Willow peered past the limits of the headlamps into the night. On cue, an impressive Mediterranean Revival villa peeked through a break in the trees. She knew exactly when and where to look. Exactly how to sabotage herself. Catching sight of it looming atop a distant hill brought a knot to her tummy. _I never saw myself living in a place like this. Even as a little girl, this wasn’t what I wanted._

 _Buffy likes it, so I guess it’s okay._

As the car crept along, the forest thinned, giving way to manicured lawns and landscaped gardens. _I have to admit, it really is beautiful here. Just outside of town, on the edge of wine country. The nearest house is a quarter mile away. It’s perfect._

 _Perfectly meaningless._

 _My father used to say, ‘The truest measure of success is a job well done.’ I’m not sure where he got it. If it was him, or just some phrase he picked up. It sounds a little like a motivational poster. But that doesn’t matter. I believed it._

 _I still do._

 _I don’t have to ask what Dad would think of me now. He’d be appalled. More like mortified. Every measure of worldly success and what am I really good at?_

At the thought, the girl in the window paid Willow another visit. Her blue eyes filled with terror. The skin peeled from her pretty young face. Willow felt sick all over again.

The house wasn’t getting any smaller and she wasn’t getting any calmer. _I’m not sure this is such a great idea. Can I take a rain check? Tonight’s been weird enough already. I could use a moratorium on weird. Like at least twelve hours with a huge, black, empty, peaceful unconscious spot somewhere in the middle._

But what Willow wanted didn’t matter and she knew it. Buffy was locked on course. Only an act of divine intervention could stop her.

 _I’ve spent most of tonight feeling like I was standing tippy-toe on a tightrope. Below me was this great big, murky pit. I knew that if I just let myself fall, it’d only hurt for a little while. It didn’t last before. The badness—that nagging feeling—the mental pain and angst—it all just drifted away and I felt good. Powerful._

 _I would’ve fallen. I sure wanted to. I still sort of do. What stopped me was her. Buffy. I just can’t stand to disappoint her._

 _Not that it matters, but I think she’d make good on her threat. She’d kill me, or try. I’m not even sure how that’d go. I’d really like to think that I’d just let her do it. I’d rather die than hurt her. But that’s the ‘me’ that’s here, now, not that other thing, so…_

They veered left onto the red cobblestone driveway that led to the house. When the car pulled into the turnaround in front of the arched façade, Willow asked, “You sure you want to be here?” It was a last ditch effort to find reason. _I may as well save my breath. It’s completely useless._

Taking Willow’s hand, Buffy replied, “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. It’ll be fine, Will. Just relax.” The handholding was nice. Willow felt much better for the few seconds it lasted. The driver’s door opened in that creaky, clunky way that old car doors do and Buffy’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Just follow me and act pissed off. They’re terrified of you.”

It took the door clanking shut for Willow to realize that she was being left behind again. She caught up just in time to watch the double front doors swing open. Mr. Intimidating stepped into view, looking like a cross between a businessman and a less chlorophyll-filled Hulk.

She tried to follow Buffy’s cue, but brow scrunching and eye narrowing just made her feel like an idiot. _I probably look like one too._

Luke didn’t seem to notice. He was way more interested in Buffy. “Welcome home, Mistress. We were becoming concerned,” he said in his usual deep, throaty voice as he motioned them inside.

For Buffy’s part it was business as usual. The eye roll was obvious, even standing behind her. Her whole posture changed. Every inch of her read ‘attitude.’

Willow wiped the smirk off her face and went back to ‘acting pissed off’ and feeling dumb.

“Let me worry about what you should and shouldn’t be concerned about, Luke,” Buffy replied. “Thinking that much…it’ll get you in trouble.” Somehow she managed to pull two-hundred pounds of contempt from her ninety pound frame.

Luke started to stammer. He got the word, “Where—” out before Buffy cut him off with an order.

“Lock the geek in a cell downstairs. I want a word with him later.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Luke said with a curt bow.

Without even acknowledging his reply, Buffy pushed past him and set off through the house.

Willow shadowed her. She felt like a shadow. The only clue of her presence was the click of her heels on the marble floor. They entered the main hall and ascended the right staircase. As they strode toward the next set of stairs at the back of the second floor, she looked down from the balcony. Luke was moving away from them, toward the lower east wing.

Her heart sank with each step they climbed. They were headed for their rooms, which meant she’d have to go to her room. Her room was the last place she wanted to go. _I’m not even sure how I’ll get in. I don’t have my card._

Buffy turned down the west corridor, confirming Willow’s fears. But she didn’t stop at either of their rooms. She didn’t even slow down.

 _Okay, so, I give up. What are we doing?_

They were out of hallway when Buffy finally did stop. She punched the button to go down.

 _We’re doing laps. That’s what._ Willow didn’t speak, but she made herself perfectly clear with a look. _Climbed all the way up to ride back down is, uh… There’s another floor in this wing, but it’s a game room. I can’t see why she’d want to go there. It’s vamp central. So…_

 _Laps. Should I remind her that a vigorous cardio workout is the last thing we need?_

“It only works from here. Just hang on and I’ll explain,” Buffy whispered. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.

Willow followed. The doors closed and Buffy pushed the stop button. But that wasn’t even the weird part. Buffy turned around, rose up on her tippy-toes and wiggled her bottom in front of the control panel. It swung open, revealing a number pad when she stepped away.

Willow grinned. _So, that’s the big secret. Buffy has a magic tuchus. Well, I knew that before, but I didn’t know it did tricks._

Buffy keyed in a string of numbers Willow didn’t try to make out and the elevator began to rise. The maintenance panel clicked closed and Buffy turned to give Willow a reassuring smile.

They ascended what must’ve been a full floor. Willow tensed, preparing for another encounter with the boys. She was certain that the doors would open. When they didn’t, she began to wonder if she was just imagining the sensation of rising. _We’ve run out of house. Haven’t we?_

The doors opened and Buffy stepped out into what might’ve been the inside of a ginormous jewelry box. Or that’s the impression Willow got from the rich, burled maple paneling and green Berber carpet. _Not that the room’s huge. So far, from what I’ve seen, my closet might be bigger. Which is good because I never would’ve ever guessed this was here. A whole lot of huge ‘I never would’ve guessed this was here’ would just be too ‘dimensionally transcendental’ for comfort._

When she exited the elevator, the doors slid closed and it automatically descended. The windowless room wrapped around two sides of the elevator shaft, furthering the jewelry box motif. _And yeah, it’s not huge._

Buffy neared the back wall, doing a similar little dance as she had in the elevator. The faint sound of a locking mechanism sliding inside the wall caught Willow’s ear. Buffy pushed and the wood panel swung in.

Willow inspected the door as she stepped into the room over the short sill the stuck up from the floor. It wasn’t like any door in any house she’d ever seen. Though it was paneled on this side to look like one, the edge was thick, stair-stepped and made of steel like a safe door with bolts that slid out of it to lock it closed. It gave the impression that they were walking into a bomb shelter.

Buffy flipped the light switch. A floor lamp next to the couch came on. The door began to swing shut when she stepped away.

Willow dodged the door by sidestepping left. When her attention returned to Buffy, she was holding out a keycard. Willow accepted it. It was just a piece of heavy, white plastic. She turned it over. The only thing on the other side was a globe watermark. It was like her room card, only plainer. Hers had blue print on it. She tried to recall how many times in the past Buffy had just disappeared. _This is brilliant. She gets on the elevator and people just assume. I never would’ve guessed._  

Buffy crossed the room and flopped down on a small, floral print loveseat. “The code is: nineteen-eighty-one-two-nineteen-ninety-five. You’re the only one who knows,” she said with a snicker. “Well, you, the construction company that built this place and the architects and who knows who else. Rooms like this are kind of a thing. Pretty much every mansion has one. They’re sort of a trade secret. Like the numbers a good accountant hides. The smart one’s never talk about it. Besides, without the card and the code, the information’s useless.”

Most of what Buffy said just slipped away. It was meaningless detail. The two dates stuck. _Wouldn’t that be ninety-six? Maybe it’s something else?_ “What are the dates?” Willow asked.

Buffy replied, “Birth, death, the usual.” Willow had something to say. The objection was right on the tip of her tongue, but it fell out the instant Buffy went on. “Look, Will, no legend is ever self-made. It doesn’t work that way. Legends are created by others. It’s just a fact. If no one ever says your name, you’re _not_ history. You disappear. You never existed.”

Turning the card over and over in her fingers, Willow struggled to make the connection. _True enough, but that has nothing to do with anything. The two things aren’t even related._

When Willow looked up, Buffy was studying her. Slipping the card into her jacket pocket, Willow ignored the unwanted attention by letting hers drift. The room wasn’t what she expected at all. It was a small, cozy, finished attic space. The far wall even sloped with the roofline right at the top, adding to the charm.

The soft timbre of Buffy’s voice provided a backdrop to her exploration. “The way you get them talking is pretty simple. Never say you can do something if you aren’t absolutely sure you can pull it off…”

To Willow’s right, a large wooden cabinet sat on the same wall as the door. It was too thin to be wardrobe and it was snug against the wall. She figured it was a Murphy bed. Opposite the bed was an alcove with a window. It was covered in heavy powder-blue draperies. Underneath it, a window seat with a dark blue cushion was built into the nook. _I know exactly where this is, but I always thought that dormer was ornamental._

“…never think small and always make them wonder. People are naturally curious. They’ll fill in the blanks for themselves, even if they’re clueless,” Buffy concluded and drew silent, allowing Willow time.

 _So, what she’s saying, in simplest terms, is that people assumed and she just let them. That sounds like Buffy._  

Willow faced her partner. The room, with its light cream walls; all of the pictures, paintings of flowers and sunny landscapes; the small student desk; the shelves of paperback books; the coffee table with its stack of women’s magazines; the plush, mottled salmon and cream shag carpet; all of these details said the same thing: this was a girl’s bedroom…average, comfortable and lived in. The only oddness was the Murphy bed, but given the room’s size it was sensible. It was like seeing a side of Buffy that Willow never imagined existed.

 _You mean, she has this huge house and she lives **here**? Maybe we’re closer than I thought._  

 _No, she has a room downstairs. Besides, there aren’t any clothes here—no closet or dresser. This isn’t where she sleeps. It’s something else. A sanctuary._

There was one thing that was out of place. Built into the left wall, behind where Buffy sat, was a display case. A light inside it had come on when she flipped the switch. It was large and impressive, like a trophy case. On its glass shelves sat a strange array of items. The one that caught Willow’s eye was a skeletal hand. She was drawn to it.

Buffy stood and walked to the window. Drapes slid open, their metal tracks making a scraping noise, followed by the faint scuff and click of a window latch. “I’m a real psychopath,” she said, raising the window. “I took trophies from every major kill. Anything bigger than dinner.” Her lighter clicked. The smell of smoke drew closer. She moved Willow aside with a gentle hand and unlocked the cabinet with a second keycard, swinging the doors open.

Willow had to move the lamp and round the couch to get back to where she’d been. Her attention still fixed on the cabinet, she returned to Buffy’s side. “Who’s hand?” she asked. “It doesn’t look quite human.” _I really don’t need to ask. She brought me here for a reason. And it’s not just the Fort Knoxy atmosphere. I need to be patient. She’ll fill in the rest._

Willow leaned against the back of the couch to wait. It was kind of hot in the little room. She considered removing her coat, but decided that was pointless. She unbuttoned it instead. _There’s no sense in getting comfortable._ _This is just the calm. The real storm has yet to begin._ She stared at the edge of the cabinet door. It was much thicker than she expected. She couldn’t resist commenting. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

“What?” Buffy glanced over her shoulder and got the picture. She smiled and said, “Oh, the case. Yeah. I had it built. It’s sorta like a safe, only not.” Her attention returned to the contents of the case. She started with the hand itself. “The Master. It’s amazing anything survived.” There were rings on three of the fingers of the hand. She went through them, pointing to each one. “The claddagh ring was Angelus’s. The skull ring was Spike’s. The black onyx ring was Drusilla’s. And of course—” she lifted the hand, placing it on the next shelf up “—this was my gift from Darla.”

Most of those names meant nothing to Willow, but she’d seen the chain and guessed. It wasn’t that hard to make the connection. _Buffy could be a million miles from here. I’d never know the difference. And that isn’t surprising either._

 _The only surprise here is me. It’s like I’ve walked into a shrine._

 _This is it._  

When Buffy lifted it, the shackle scraped the shelf. She didn’t seem to notice or care that the chain hung precariously.

 _She’s letting me in._

Gravity took hold, doing its work. The chain snaked off the shelf. Each link produced a ticking rhythm as it flowed over the edge. Buffy clung to the shackle and just let the chain fall. It clattered into a pile at her feet.

 _And here, I was worried. This is it, the final piece of trust._

Willow didn’t know whether to smile or cry, so she compromised and did a little of both.

It took a moment, but Buffy snapped back to some semblance of normalcy. The chain clattered. She draped it over her shoulder and arm as she said, “Anyway, I had one of the geeks wire the hand so it’d stay together. The rings are glued on. I thought it was kinda cool…and fitting.” She strode to the window to dispose of her ash.

A burned piece of plastic circuit board held Willow’s interest. She picked it up to inspect. _Okay, so…I’ve watched Mission: Improbable enough times to know what this is—once was plenty—but what in Zandru's Seven Hells would she be doing with…_ “Lemme guess, your real name is BuffyMcVeigh?”

No surprise, Willow’s question received a well earned, “Huh?”

 _Why do stupid things always come out of my mouth? I open it and…_

When Buffy peeked over her shoulder, Willow turned to give her a better look. “Oh, that,” Buffy said. “That thing was a total bitch to get. I had to steal it from the cops. But I figured, after murdering a hundred or so mostly-innocent bystanders, I should have a keepsake.”

That statement made it ‘huhs’ all around. Willow had nothing. No reference. No idea. She barely found the sense to close her sagging jaw.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” With that kind of lead-in, there should’ve been more hemming and hawing, but Buffy got right to the point. “I blew up City Hall.”

“That was you?” Willow exclaimed. “I saw that on the news. I mean, we knew each other, but—” She gave up. This new information was going to take some time to digest. _The media called that a terrorist bombing. They even arrested some guys. I thought it was totally mundane._ Incredulous, Willow asked, “You did that?”

“I did,” Buffy admitted. “On purpose and everything.” She held out her hand.

It took Willow a moment to react. When she saw what was up, she deposited the scrap of detonator in Buffy’s palm…and shut her gaping maw, _again_.

Buffy stared at the ruined plastic as she went on, “The Mayor got this stupid idea he wanted to ascend.” Snickering, she returned the detonator to the shelf where it belonged. “Y’know…become a demon? I heard about it and I hit him before he really got started, killed him and his whole staff, not to mention a bunch of collateral…”

When she picked back up, her voice had become small and wistful. “Trying to process guilt for me—” she let out a dry snicker “—it’s a bit of a challenge—” her chain rattled as she backed away “—impossible really. Figuring out how I feel about anything besides what I need is sort of shelved for the moment.” She stepped around the couch and took a seat on its arm.

Willow was hesitant to press. She glanced at Buffy. Strangely enough, she looked fine, so Willow decided it was okay to ask, “And the skull?” _That’s a human skull—probably a girl—and not a very old one either considering its size and the condition of the teeth._

A sardonic smile played at Buffy’s features as she answered, “Some brat Faith killed. Supposed to be her sister. Actually, she was like this mystical Key a bunch of whacked out zealots made. I had to save it. That was the one evil thing Faith ever did. Guess she’s not big on family.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Willow replied through a snicker. “Faith was all broken up. I thought we might actually have to work, but Team White Hat swooped in and saved the day.” _I’m just amazed she kept a memento._ Her confidence bolstered, Willow moved to the next item in Buffy’s macabre keepsake collection, “And the spine?”

The mood had lightened. Buffy actually laughed. It was weird. Somehow she could seem happy holding that chain. She sobered as she gave the account, “Margaret Walsh. I don’t know if you even heard about that one. Dalton caught it pretty early. It was a government thing. Humans playing God. I removed the leader and the whole thing fell apart.” A smile brightened her face. There was nothing sweet about this one. Through a wicked little giggle, she said, “She was surprisingly tasty for someone that old and gross.”

The final item sat away from the others on the top shelf. As Willow stared at the old stuffed toy, Buffy returned to the window. _A piece of her past. Something from before all this._ She wanted the pick the toy up, pull on his tail, scruffle his ears… He was cute. She resisted the urge. “Who’s the pig?” she asked. “He looks totally out of place.”

Her cigarette gone, Buffy returned to Willow’s side. A sigh slipped out. “Mr. Gordo. He was mine when I was a girl. Sort of a reminder of—”

Willow finished the thought. “Your humanity?” She removed Tara’s necklace and placed it at Mr. Gordo’s feet. _Symbolic, meet literal._

Buffy nodded curtly and looked away.

There was one final detail. Willow was afraid to ask. _She said she didn’t know, but she has to have some idea. She’d know the date of the game and when—_

Buffy motioned her aside and closed the cabinet. Returning to the couch, she took a seat. The links of the chain rattled in her hands.

 _Do I really need to know?_

 _Probably not, but—_

The desk was the only place to sit and still give Buffy space. Willow went there. She watched for a moment while Buffy toyed with the chain, running the links through her fingers. It was hard, but she forced the words, “And the date?” It felt like picking at a scab.

Buffy went to the window, lighting another cigarette before she answered, “It was the playoffs, Will.”

 _But that’s like late November, early December. I mean, I don’t know. Football’s not exactly my thing and Sunnydale’s not in the same division, but it should be—_

“Come here,” Buffy said.

Willow didn’t ask. She just went. There wasn’t much room to breathe with both them packed into the tiny alcove. Buffy let her slip past. The sky had lightened ever so slightly. Morning was on its way. _There’s about an hour left. It’s now or never._

 _Well, not exactly ‘never,’ but still._

It wasn’t clear what Buffy was after. The red clay tile roof sloped down from the window. It ended about ten feet from where Willow stood. There was a balcony just off to the right below them. _Probably Buffy’s. My room doesn’t have one._ It occurred to her that Buffy could leave through this window and drop down. It wouldn’t be a huge deal for her to reach the ground from there.

Buffy touched the small of Willow’s back and pointed at the courtyard tucked behind the balcony. Following Buffy’s gesture, Willow got the gist. “Yeah, it’s a swimming pool,” she said with a shrug. “Been there. Fucked there, actually. What of it?”

“If I put someone in there, can you keep them in?” Buffy asked as she reached around Willow to flick her ash out the window.

Willow grinned. _I know that look._ _Yeah, she’s scheming._ “Sure, there’s this great spell. I’ll have to be next to it to—”

Nodding, Buffy cut her off mid-sentence, “Go do it and come straight back here. Don’t let anyone see you.” Somehow, her cigarette was gone again. Willow didn’t remember her throwing it out. Buffy’s attention was consumed by the chain. She studied it as it passed through her fingers.

Willow nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand caught her arm. It didn’t occur to her that Buffy would notice her leaving. She turned and Buffy took both of her wrists. The chain draped between them.

“How long will it last?” Buffy asked. Her gaze was piercing.

“Until I break it,” Willow mumbled, unsure what to think.

  


* * *

  


“I’m sorry, Will,” Buffy whispered. _No clue why I’m apologizing. She’s just so wigged._

 _Well, here’s a clue. I’m treating her like a minion and she’s definitely not one._  

The apology worked its magic, taking the edge off, but Buffy just couldn’t leave well enough alone. _This is totally counterproductive, but I’ve gotta do it. There’s just too much riding on all of this for me not to._ She pulled the keys from her jacket pocket and placed them in Willow’s hand, folding her fingers over them. _There’s this crinkley thing that always happens with her brow when she thinks I’m nuts. It’s kinda cute._

Buffy wiped the smirk from her face. It was just setting Willow on edge. _The important thing’s to plant enough seeds to pique her curiosity._ Buffy explained, “If something happens…” gesturing toward a switch on the alcove wall with a tilt of her head “…everything you need to know is in this room.” Waving Willow aside, she flipped the switch. As the steel plate lowered, sealing the room, she went on, “You’ll be safe here. It’d take me days to get in without a card.”

 _Yup, not even remotely helpful. But I didn’t think it would be._ “What’s my first rule?” she asked.

Willow tore her attention from the window. “Never boast,” she replied.

Buffy stifled a snicker. _Yeah, simpled up, I guess that’s it. It’s cool how she does that._ She met Willow’s gaze and smiled. “I can do this,” she whispered. “Thing is, it’s just the first step. You need to know this stuff in case something else goes sideways.”

When Willow nodded and looked away, Buffy took her by the chin and gently turned her head until their eyes met. _She looks really worried._ “This isn’t a big deal, ’kay?” she whispered.

Kisses were the best tool she had to ease the tension. _It’s an awful lot to go through, but I’ll muddle along._ Funny, the muddling made her weak in the knees.

Willow murmured, “’Kay,” between smooches. She made her way to the door when Buffy let go. For all the effort, the glance she cast over her shoulder as she left said nothing good.

 _I just wish she wasn’t so wigged._ With a sigh Buffy flipped the switch. As the steel plate retracted into the wall, she sat down on the window seat and lit another cigarette.

Her smoke was nearly gone when the magic-assist department showed up to doctor the pool. Willow dipped her fingers into the water and mumbled a few words. Buffy couldn’t make them out, but that didn’t matter. The setup was done. It was her turn now. She flipped the cigarette butt out the window, slipped her jacket off, hung it on the hook by the door and left the room.

The chain weighed heavy on her arm as she waited for the elevator. She played with the links. They were cool and rough to the touch. _I haven’t laid hands on this thing in years. It just sat there as a reminder._ The images it conjured and the mood they created were perfect.

The elevator doors slid open and she stepped on. She travelled, uninterrupted, all the way to the ground floor, where the doors retracted revealing a long, empty corridor. She was still alone. As she walked past the entrance to the library, Luke emerged through the doorway down the hall that led to the basement. _Just the man I need to see._ Closing the distance between them, she asked “You get the geek?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Luke replied. Forming a steeple with his hands, he tilted his head in a reverent bow.

Buffy went straight for the stairs, pushing past him. “Fucking zealots,” she hissed.

He asked with marked diffidence, “Am I to assume the spell…it didn’t go as expected?”

Buffy swung around. The huge vampire hung his head. “You could say that,” she snarled, watching with satisfaction when he winced. “Get the boys out by the pool. I want a word.” She barked orders and kept going. “Meet me at the front door. You’ve got ten minutes.” She’d learned a long time ago that the key to dealing with Luke was indifference. If he thought she couldn’t be bothered, he’d toe the line. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she glanced over her shoulder. The dimwit was still standing there. She couldn’t resist telling him off, “Oh, and Luke, never call me ‘Mistress’ again.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he muttered.

Buffy shook her head, growling, “I swear that twit makes Lyle Gorch look like a goddamn brain surgeon,” as she made her way to the first cell. She spotted Dalton, who was cowering in the back corner. “Lighten up. It’s cool. I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, reaching her hand through the bars to gesture. “Come here.”

The skinny little guy was shaking so hard his glasses were barely staying on. But she had to give him credit. He did exactly what she asked. Afraid he might pass out, she withdrew her hand.

Dalton couldn’t look up. “J-just make it quick, Miss,” he sputtered.

Buffy hissed, causing the bookish vampire to jump and her to laugh. “Timid thing,” she mumbled. “I’d sort of forgotten.” A smile warmed her face. “Look, Dalton, you’re useful. I like that about you, so calm down. It’s cool. I’m here to talk deal.”

“Y-yes, Miss?” Dalton replied.

“All the books and all the blood you want. You just gotta do two things,” she said, careful to keep her tone even and restrained.

Dalton managed to look up. It was a bold move. Buffy could tell it hurt. He scanned her face. _Give it up. Remember who you’re dealing with. If I was lying, you’d never know it._

“Yes, Miss?”

Buffy took a step back and crossed her arms. The chain clattered as it folded between them. _The act’s good. He’s survived on it for lots longer than I’ve been alive. It’s one of his best tricks. The other is being useful._

 _And all that pretty much amounts to nothing. Truth is, if he could, he’d take my head off. He can’t, so that much is a non-issue, but I still don’t trust him. Scrawny little geek knows too much. And on a scale of good to evil, he rates a solid despicable._  

Quiet and firm, Buffy laid down the rules. “Stay useful, stay put, and stay quiet. That’s all I ask and you can keep your head. But if you leave this cell or you run your mouth to anyone else but me, our deal’s off. We clear?”

Dalton nodded, making eye contact. “Y-yes, Miss. T-thank you, Miss,” he stuttered sheepishly.

“’Kay, just sit tight,” she said. “I’ll bring you some stuff later.” His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose. She wanted to fix them, but he shuddered and shied away when she reached into his cell. Shrugging, she turned and strutted up the stairs.

As Buffy strolled through the mansion, she looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world. _Is it screwed up that I’m actually looking forward to this? I wonder what a shrink would say. ‘Patient exhibits aggressive, antisocial behavior.’ Fuck that. This is like the best therapy I know._

The hallway let out into a common area. Clusters of comfortable furniture were grouped around the room. Buffy hated this room. _It looks like an upscale waiting room to me, but the decorator assured me it was the thing to do with the space. I guess with the fireplaces…_

 _Whatever. It’s good to be home. Such as it is._

Her pace quickened. Following the traffic pattern, she moved past the couches, tables and chairs, through the archway, into the main hall. This room was really too grand for furniture. There wasn’t much. Anything added would’ve just been dwarfed. _I should’ve just had him meet me here. This is a great place to spar. Yeah, uh…nah, the maids would hate me. More than they already do. Now there’s a stretch._

The chain clattered against the glossy finished oak when she pushed her way through the double entry doors. Luke was standing beside the Trans Am with his arms folded. _Eh…Christ, if he dents my car…_

She had nothing. She even put some thought into it. _There just isn’t a hell of a lot left after ‘I’m gonna kill you slow and bloody.’ Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Somewhere, not here. Not near my car._

Buffy cast a glare and walked right by him, around the circular driveway to the other side. Of course, he followed. _It’d be above average stupid for him not to._ She let the chain drop, twirling it as she turned. Luke was eyeing her suspiciously. _He may be catching up._

As she paced a lap around the mountain o’ vampire, he asked, “What happened?”

 _Now that’s the question of the moment, isn’t it?_ “Team Goodie-Two-Shoes rushed in to save the day,” Buffy grumbled. _And that’s almost the truth._

It was funny how an answer, regardless how lame, seemed to set Luke at ease. He still followed her with his eyes, turning as she moved, but his posture relaxed just a touch. He grumbled, “They couldn’t have possibly—”

Buffy shrugged and faced him. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, they did,” she muttered.

Luke grew openly hostile, which was really out of character for him. Buffy held back a smile when he countered, “I warned you that entertaining that band of—”

Speaking over him, Buffy cut in, “Look, Luke, I get that it’s hard. I look into your eyes sometimes and I can almost see it…” the smile took hold “…a spark in that great gaping chasm between your ears.” _That did it. He’s pissed._ It made Buffy giggle. Her tone was smooth and silky, completely unflustered when she dropped the bomb. “You look like you need help. Let me simple this up for you. The only slayer you need to worry about is the one right here.”

Her words took a second to sink in, but when they did, it was entertaining. Luke was just too big to be fast. He fought like a brawler, relying on powerful blows to wreck his prey. He lunged and she skipped sideways. His meaty fist missed by a mile. The swing nearly landed him on his face. _I could dance around him all morning, laughing my ass off. He’d never lay a hand on me._

 _What I’d do to him is an entirely different matter. One in need of minor negotiation. Course, there’s dawn to consider. We haven’t got much time to play._

It took Luke time to recover. As he did, Buffy slipped behind him. _It always went this way when we sparred. I was just faster, but now, the difference is pathetic._

She lashed out, cracking the chain like a whip. It winged past his head. _I could’ve killed him with that._ She jerked, causing the chain to arc. _But I think Luke deserves a parting gift._ He was just quick enough to get his hand between the chain and his throat before she caught the other end and pulled it tight. _A little something to entertain him on the road to Hell._

When he went over backwards, she kicked, spinning him as he fell. He landed on his face. His right hand was still trapped by the chain. _Beautiful. I couldn’t have asked for better._

Buffy jerked the chain tight as she pounced on the small of his back. Cracking issued from his throat. His wail came out as sort of a disgusting, burbling sound. She dropped the chain. In the instant it took him to react, she landed three blows. The first two struck his shoulders, snapping them. The next was an open palm to the back of his head. It made a sick splintering noise. _Guess I’ll be the only one talking._

 _No loss. It’s really better that way._

It was time for some distance. Buffy leapt up. As Luke floundered, she said, “Y’know, now that I think about it, that wasn’t really a problem.” A smirk twisted her features. She looked positively evil. What’s worse, she knew it. She was trying for it. She worked it. _Me having fun always means broken bones. Theirs, not mine. Strange how a little soul added to the mix doesn’t change the basics. Time to clue him in._

All Luke’s flailing was making a mess. Blood pooled on the driveway under his face. He managed to kick himself over. Teeth and pieces of bone lay in the gore. _Wow. I thought vamps looked bad enough already—all bumpy faced and fangy—definitely not runway material—but that’s just gross._

Buffy went back to pacing laps to set him off. But tracking her was a real problem for him now. And with two broken shoulders he wasn’t getting up again without a crane.

“The real rub came when my own team betrayed me,” she said, before pausing to crush his left hip with the heel of her boot. “It was Will’s little fuck buddy,” she noted, but that was pretty much lost to all of his screaming. He doubled up and flopped back. She strode around him to smash the other side, taunting as she went, “How long’s it been since you lost a fight, Luke?” She lashed out between jibes. Bones cracked. He jerked. She mused, “Oh, that’s right. You can’t really talk. Sorry.”

Really, he was screwed. She could’ve just walked away. The sun would’ve finished the job for her, but she’d always been a stickler for seeing things through to the end. That was the only way she knew they were done right.

The chain was still coiled around his neck. She went to collect the ends, entertaining herself by recounting the details, “Mid eighteen-hundreds? Madrid? You were sleeping, right?” She grinned. Screwing with him was just too much fun. “This is such a good story. I really wish you could tell it one last time.” _About as much as I wish that William Shatner would put out another album._

As she lifted him up with the chain, he tried to grab hold, but he couldn’t raise his arms high enough. They dropped to his sides, useless and trembling. _It’s weird seeing him like this. We’ve been working together for seven years; I’ve seen him get lots of things, but scared was never one of them._

She pulled. He thrashed, but she held on. When he fell still, she whispered, “As I recall, it was some pathetic human. A filthy creature afflicted with a soul.” His beached-fish impression started up before she was even done. It was totally rude. A big guy like that might even get lucky and knock her off her feet, despite all the broken bones. She considered just garroting him and walking away, but she wasn’t quite finished.

Instead, she pointed out, “Looks like you’re oh for two,” as she jerked up on the chain. “Same sitch.” Her voice strained. When his ass left the ground, the flopping stopped and she kicked. The toe of her boot struck his spine. She let him fall, but kept enough pressure on the chain to keep him upright. The cracking sound was a fairly good indication that he wasn’t going to stay that way on his own now. “The braintrust who cursed me—she did the one thing she thought would totally screw me up. Betcha can’t guess what that was.”

Of course, all the carrying on had meant that he was conscious. Now that it was over, she wasn’t sure. She asked through a sigh, “Y’know what the real bitch of this is?” Big surprise, he didn’t answer. She jerked with all her might, pulling her hands apart, and ‘pop.’ His head bounced twice and ‘poof.’ “Even with a soul, I’m still bad.” Swirls of cinders and ash danced around her legs.

 _Ugh…I need a bath._


	10. A Multitude of Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Squick ahoy! Torture and humiliation. More sensitive readers should avoid the first scene.

Morning was closing in. The waning moon now shone, a mere sliver in the eastern sky. Time was running out. Every abandoned house, warehouse, sewer tunnel and crypt had been searched, even the underside of a bridge. Anywhere within a half mile of the hospital that would provide shelter from the sun had been looked at, and still no luck.

 _It’s nearly over._

Heavy foliage choked the narrow alley. Wooden fences held it back here and there. Still it crept in, overhanging any manmade boundaries. The unnatural glow of city lights illuminated the alley’s end, creating a tunnel-like impression. Only the occasional porch light shining through the leaves spoiled the effect.

 _Yet I feel like I need to wake up._

Though thin and dry, the air seemed heavy, laden with the sweet fragrances of evening primrose and musk sage. Other odors—city smells like garbage, car exhaust, chlorine and freshly mown lawn—blended with the flowers, resulting in a pungent bouquet.

 _I’m still not convinced this isn’t a nightmare._

In the distance, the electric motor of a hybrid car whined. The chatter of cicadas in the tree limbs overhead nearly drowned the car out. Water rained from sprinklers in several neighboring yards, producing a symphony of discordant percussion.

 _This began the way all nightmares do, with unconsciousness._

Memories of a dying vision surfaced. First the raven-haired woman appeared, Willow Rosenberg, only daughter of Ira and Sheila Rosenberg. The Rosenbergs had tragically perished in a house fire many years earlier. Only Willow survived.

 _I woke up floating face down in my parent’s pool. How can that be real?_

The identity of Willow’s dishwater blonde companion remained a mystery. However, Faith Lehane was immediately recognizable from her picture. Her expression had been relaxed then, perhaps even happy. The vision was different. A range of emotions from fear to rage reflected in the slayer’s features as she fought for her life.

 _What’s more reasonable? That I was vamped without a mark? That no one noticed?_

The final player was the one that most often came to mind: Buffy Summers. The snide little Barbie doll wannabe with her shit-eating grin. She’d become a cautionary tale long before any of this’d happened. Her story was required reading for all Council initiates now.

 _I could be in a coma. I could be lying in some hospital bed. Or maybe I really did die and this is—_

Intense heat met Kennedy’s face as she emerged from the alley. She turned and ran, but the heat stuck to her. Beneath her chin the skin seared. As the heat drew down, following the curve of her throat, she tried to block it with her hands. Along with the intended target, her hands were scorched, both back and palm.

Her feet caught on something unseen. Momentum sent her sprawling face-first onto the pavement.

The hollow below her throat charred. She flipped onto her back. The hot coal being drawn over her skin showed no signs of stopping. What the heat would do when it reached her shirt distressed her, so she tore the garment open. Through the anguish, her mind snatched at answers and found Becky. _She was going down on me when this happened before._

A message branded in her flesh: ‘One in your charge has strayed. You have until dawn to put your house in order.’

Her Watcher was gorgeous in a way only older women could be. _Poised, elegant…regal even._ _Even with her mouth full of pussy._ That conquest had been the one high point. Kennedy’s torment was eased by a sense of prideful arrogance. _Especially when it was my pussy._ Fruit, once forbidden, had not just been sampled. Its sweet, succulent meat had been savored.

All of the frenzied fondling, fucking and sucking had dulled Kennedy’s senses. She’d been slow to react to the sudden pain.

When the stench reached her nose, she’d gone scrambling. The same acrid smell made her nose run now. Her eyes burned. Tears poured. A scream tore through her. The heat traced an unwavering line between her breasts as she writhed in the street. In her mind, flames ignited her flesh, engulfing her, consuming her.

At the lower tip of her sternum the heat lifted. She flipped onto her back and it touched her again on the left side of her stomach.

The heat had severed her bra. One breast, still cupped in lace, spilled out when she raised up on her elbows to see. She tweaked her nipple to dull the pain. The thin scorch mark twisted and scrolled, forming words in the same neat, curvaceous script as before. ‘I have something of yours.’

The message sent Kennedy to her feet. It could only mean one thing. The witch had taken Becky. _I’m to blame for all of this._

As Kennedy spun around to make a break for home, the metal bar in her tongue rolled in her mouth. It remained stationary when she leapt forward. She doubled over choking as it hit the back of her throat. Her other piercing had done the same thing. She’d never been happier that her fascination with body modification had ended with one nipple.

 _I located the vineyard. Inside the book they’d left behind was a spell handwritten on a scrap of paper. We needed a witch._

She turned. Her jewelry twisted and pulled, drawn in one direction. The stud on the top of her tongue clicked her front teeth. She could live with that, but the way her nipple stretched was upsetting. She reached for the ring, intent on releasing it, but her injured hands wouldn’t cooperate.

 _What we ended up with was one sick fuck. That’s my fault. I was thinking with my twat. Figures she was pretty too._

She fumbled and pried. The ring should’ve bent. The captive bead should’ve gone sailing toward whatever strange magnetic force was at work. Instead the metal grew hotter. Her fingertips singed. Blisters bubbled in her flesh. The bar in her tongue was doing the same thing. All she could think to do was run. The smell of searing meat filled her sinuses.

Her instincts took over. She reached for the stud in her tongue. A moment too late, she realized it was cold.

Blood trickled down her throat. The heat teased her midriff. Her knees buckled when it passed between her legs. She stumbled, but didn’t fall. Every ounce of strength she had went into fleeing. She felt the heat shadowing her. When she slowed to avoid a car at an intersection, hot claws raked her back.

Again she lost track. The cool breeze felt good as she ran, but she zipped her jacket to protect her skin.

The hospital emergency entrance was ahead, just past the final cross street. The setback of sidestepping another car cost her a scorch mark that ran the length of her back. The slash laid her clothes open. Her jeans felt loose across her hips. Holding them up was the best she could do, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her clothes were on fire.

 _No. None of this is my fault. It’s Buffy’s. All I did was pick up the pieces. Organize the survivors._

Behind the hospital, there was a parking lot and a smaller building that looked like a clinic. Kennedy didn’t have the first clue where to go, so she headed for the clinic. About halfway down the driveway something struck her shins.

The heat enveloped her. Flames licked her skin. She fell, flailing, and tore at her clothes.

She picked herself up. A few shreds of tattered cloth still hung from her limbs. The rest littered the ground around her. She blinked. None of the scraps were burned. _Fucking bitch!_ A lash cracked across her ass. She was thrown forward. A pathetic, squeaky yelp escaped her lips.

She curled up on her knees, with her cheek against the street and her ass in the air.

She’d been determined to stand, but every move she made resulted in something else. Her body was locked now. She couldn’t go anywhere. Another swat came and she bit down. Her thighs spread themselves. The third swat was focused on her pussy. She shut her eyes as tears welled up.

Footfalls sounded all around her. The heel of a boot crushed against her cheek.

She opened her eyes, praying it wasn’t real. The toe of his other boot was only inches from her nose. A crowd jeered and laughed around her. Without warning a boot connected with her ribs. Another, her crotch. And another. And another. They stomped and kicked and clawed. Her hair was ripped out in clumps.

She lost track, broke down, wept like a child. Mostly she pleaded for death.

When the man lifted his boot and unzipped his fly, she feared the worst. The blood, pooled below her mouth, mixed with the stream of piss that struck her face. She shut her eyes. As she fought to move, more streams hit her shoulders, back and ass. They finished and zipped their flies.

Voices sounded both near and far, “You stupid cunt, she’s right there.”

Boots scrapped. Heels tapped. Sneakers squeaked. They were leaving. The urine stung. She wiped her eyes with a piece of cloth. Her face couldn’t possibly be hot, but it was. Actually, her whole body felt like the fingers she’d slammed in a car door once. Painfully, she lifted herself up to look around. To her left, blood smudged the trunk of a blue Toyota sedan.

Emblazoned on the asphalt a message burned, ‘Bring her to me.’

Kennedy obeyed.

  


* * *

  


Willow waited for the elevator doors to open. She’d just removed her coat and folded it neatly. It hung doubled in front of her over her laced hands. Feeling hot after being so cold such a short time ago was strange. She wondered if her entire unlife would be one long menopausal moment spent playing with the thermostat. _My mother was like that. It was annoying then, and no better now._

 _Add to that: Buffy._ _She’s a horse of a different color, with spots in different spots._

The thought brought a warm smile to Willow’s face. _I’ve often thought of her that way. The relationshipy stuff, such as it was. ‘Getting to know you’ with her is like trying to tame a wild animal. Horsies fit because—well, **pretty** …and there’s just something about cantering down the fairway, with the straddling and the bouncing. _Her mind wandered, taking a quick detour to the naughty place before revisiting similar musings from earlier in the evening. _But so do big cats._

 _Mixing metaphors never goes well. And ‘big’ still doesn’t fit at all. Buffy isn’t big. She’s tiny. Dainty even, with soft, tiny little hands and feet. There’s nothing hard or sharp or pokey about them. When she touches me, it’s…_

A shiver ran down Willow’s spine as her thoughts drifted. She tensed and twitched to make it stop, but her needy body wasn’t cooperating at all and her mind was practically a quarantine zone. _And full, pouty, kissable lips. All soft and yummy. When she smiles, I feel all gooshy inside. And beautiful eyes. The sort of eyes that inspire purple prose. ‘Eyes you could fall into and drown.’ Like pieces of stormy sky got trapped there._

 _She’s just powerful like that. Mysterious. Dangerous. Temperamental._

 _Oh, I don’t know. I’m being silly. Maybe I’m still afraid she’s—_

 _She’s not. **Dammit.** I have to believe things have changed—that **we** can change. But even tonight, for all of her openness, she got skittish toward the end. We just can’t find our way past the same old games._

 _And yeah, I’ll admit I’m curious._ Willow sighed. _But I can’t help thinking that she handed me the damned car keys so I’d remember to put away the blood. Gripes me to no end._

 _Nah, she’s not that planny. Not with the small stuff._

The elevator bobbled and stopped. _Whatever._ The doors opened. _I was a good little minion. A good, cranky little bear-type minion who really just wants to get some sleep._

As Willow went to the place where the hidden door had been, she shifted her coat around to reach in the pocket. It brushed the wall making a faint scraping sound. She nearly missed the other sound—the sound of steel sliding inside the wall. She faltered and turned around as the door swung in. It was centered on the wall across from the elevator. _Umm…that’s not the same door._ She hung her head, shaking it. _And stating the obvious—not exactly a mark of brilliance._

 _I shouldn’t care. I don’t have time for this. I need to know that Buffy’s alright. More importantly, I need to be there in case she isn’t._ But Willow couldn’t just walk away either. Not when another clue had just landed in her lap. She doubled back. The room wasn’t much larger than the entry hall, about the size of a generous closet. A huge flat panel display stretched nearly the entire width of the wall to her left. It was dark, asleep or off. There was a desk in front of it with a keyboard and mouse. _A computer?_

 _Well, I don’t see a tower, but that doesn’t mean much._

 _Since when does Buffy like computers? Since when does Buffy even know what a computer is?_

 _It looks like it could be one hell of a game machine. When did she start playing games? And why in such a tiny, stuffy little room?_

 _Oh! It could be an A.V. rig. But what would she want with one of those? Somehow I can’t see Buffy cobbling together videos to share with her friends. I’m not sure Buffy even has friends._

 _No. Buffy has ambition, not friends. She’s barely old enough to drink in human years and a master vampire. Winning friends and influencing others—the non-violent way—really isn’t her thing._

 _Okay. I have to go. I can come back to this._

When Willow moved away, the door sealed shut. She walked to the middle of the back wall and the door to Buffy’s room opened. It bugged her that there was another room. _Is there a third?_

 _No, the back of the elevator shaft’s against the outside wall of the house. There’s nothing there but a wall. Or if there is, it’s a doorway leading to one dilly of a drop._

She hung her coat next to Buffy’s. The window was open again. Willow crossed the room and sat on the window seat to watch.

The vampires were so far away they looked really tiny. It gave Willow the impression she was watching a game from the nosebleed seats. _At least this is comfier._

She took a quick inventory. _Uh, jeez I was wrong…twenty-three…no, twenty-four-on-one. Well, this should be fun. I hope she’s okay._

 _She will be. I can’t move like her. And I’m strong, lots stronger than I was, but not nearly as strong._

 _Buffy must be there ’cause they all just turned. The balcony’s in the way. I can’t see her._

A voice carried through the dank morning air. “Guys, I get that it’s a bitch…” It was faint, but decidedly feminine.

 _Yeah, that’d be Buffy. Unless one of the ‘boys’ started hormone therapy. Or Candy Gorch decided to take her ‘no account’ husband back._

 _Doubtful._

Willow missed the next little bit of the speech. _It doesn’t matter. Knowing Buffy, it was all snark, no substance._

“The hours are lousy. There’s no real pension plan, no major medical, no unemployment and you don’t so much get to retire.”

 _Well, she has their attention, sort of. I think a few of them went to sleep._

“I have a plan to improve this.”

Willow could just see the top of Buffy’s head when she stepped forward.

“You’re all fired.” Before the word ‘fired’ even left Buffy’s mouth, the poolside erupted in a furball.

It didn’t take Willow long to feel foolish for worrying. Maybe two seconds. That’s about when the first dust cloud appeared. But it was impossible to tell with all the chaos. Vamps splashed into the pool. Others charged or fled.

When more clouds of ash scattered over the pool, Willow caught a detail she’d missed. A head went bouncing off to the side like a fumbled ball. Its black hair waved as it rolled, turned to cinder and broke apart. _Oh, that’s just disgusting._

 _Well, what’d I expect? She’s never used a stake before. She doesn’t like ’em. Too slayery for her._

 _But that begs the question ‘how is she doing it?’ Without something sharp and pointy._

Considering the decapitation methods available when using a length of chain made Willow queasy. She decided pretty quickly that she was happy not knowing. Not being able to tell what was going on really was better. _I’ll just sit here and be perfectly content knowing that she’s fine. But in no way is this—_

Three steps and Buffy leapt.

Willow gasped. _Wrong way._

Time seemed to hang.

And so did the little blonde who’d just vaulted over the pool… _like an idiot!_ Willow thought for sure she was going to have to intervene. _Ending that spell would be—_

The tip of Buffy’s boot touched down. It looked from Willow’s angle like it just met the lip of the pool. She expected Buffy to slip, splat and splash.

 _Well, I don’t even want to think about it._

Pushing off, Buffy sprung forward and rolled. After turning one neat summersault, she was on her feet running. She disappeared down the hill behind the pool.

 _Why’d you have to do that? It was going so well and you just had to show off. Giving your witch a heart attack is bad! Especially, when she’s dead and a vamp and…_

 _And._

 _And._

 _Well, not really so much—_

 _Whatever!_

 _Brat!_

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Evil, rotten, nasty little brat! I should turn you over my knee!_

The cussing had just about petered out when one of the Gorch brother’s hats popped up over the rise. His hands were raised. He was backing toward the pool, away from an unseen, no doubt Buffy-shaped menace.

Though Willow couldn’t recall when it had happened, she sat on her knees with her back to the room. Her body was inclined forward. She was almost hanging out of the window. The bench was hard and the cushion thin. Her knees were beginning to ache. She turned and sat sideways on the bench, letting go a deep, grumpy sigh.

 _No idea what happened to the other one. There’s probably not enough left of him to fill an ashtray. No loss. Hell, I can’t even keep them straight. Which one’s the fat one, Lyle or Tector? I barely remember the cute ones. Vamps just aren’t my thing._

 _Except one…and boy, does she look pissed._

Buffy herded the fat one, whoever he was, straight into the pool. Willow snickered when he did that funny cartoon thing. His arms twirled for a ridiculous, exaggerated time before he wobbled and splooshed. Buffy was back in the fray before his hat bobbed on the surface of the pool. The other vamps had clustered on the far end of the pool. _It’s funny that they just let Lyle or Tector or whoever back right in. They stood out of the way and watched it happen. No love lost there._

 _No real surprise either. The Gorch brothers were major dorks. The big surprise was that they lasted as long as they did._  

Now that that was over, things changed. The other vamps were trying to work together. They circled Buffy, attempting to drive her into the pool. Their leader had found a shovel and was brandishing it. _How does someone just find a shovel? We don’t leave shovels just lying around, do we? I really need to have a talk with the groundskeeper, ’cause that’s just dangerous. I tripped over a shovel once and skinned my knee. It hurt._

 _Buffy has a chain. He has a shovel. Oops. Now she has a chain and a shovel. Uh-oh…_

The vamp flashed and poofed. _See, I knew that was dangerous!_

 _Course, we are talking about Buffy. She could probably make a feather dangerous._

Buffy chucked the shovel into the pool. _She must not like them either. I don’t blame her. They’re either dangerous or just plain work. Neither one is fun._

It didn’t matter that Buffy was still woefully outnumbered. Willow gave up trying to watch. She decided that as long as there was movement, it was fine. _If things settle down again, I’ll worry._

The others were just mad and acting stupid anyway. They made the mistake of coming to her. That put them on the deep end of the pool. _All she has to do is knock them off balance and ‘plop.’ Once they’re fully submerged, the game’s over. On the shallow end, they might’ve stood a chance._

 _Not so much now._

The shallow end of the pool was just plain weird looking. The surface bowed like a rubber sheet, forming impossible curves as the vampires struggled to break free. It looked a lot like that slimy stuff the kids all played with when she was little. _That stuff was icky. It left this nasty, slippery residue on your hands. Then it’d get sticky. Xander used to throw pieces of it at me ’cause he knew I hated it._

Willow took her cheek in hand. She tried to refrain from humming the Alka-Seltzer song. Just like the boys, she lost the battle. _But there’s no fizz. That’s no fun. I should’ve made it fizz._

Thankfully, none of this lasted long or she might’ve fallen asleep.

The last body hit the water and Buffy caught Willow’s attention. She smiled and dipped into a low graceful bow. Willow returned the smile.

It was getting really light outside. She was glad when Buffy disappeared in a blink.

 _I’ve got about five minutes. That should be enough time._

Willow grabbed her card and ran to solve the mystery of the new room. It didn’t take that long for her to regret the decision. The application she found running on the PC was a security program. She clicked on the arrow and a combo box menu dropped down. Every room in the house was listed, except for Buffy’s and the two attic rooms.

She selected her room and it came into view. A new combo box labeled ‘Camera’ appeared, which had six options. Not even her bathroom was sacred.

 _Boy, she really didn’t trust me._

Willow clamped her mouth shut. Her teeth gritted. She minimized the application. There was a shortcut on the desktop to a folder called ‘The Latest.’ She needed to see what was in it. As she suspected, it was full of video files, labeled by room and date. She browsed through them until one caught her eye. When she double clicked, her stomach turned flip-flops.

On the big screen, she stood facing the room in full color and everything. Tara’s back was to the camera. She was clothed for the moment, but if the date was any indication, that wasn’t going to last. _This was the night before the ritual._

Just moments into the show, Willow’s pixely counterpart took care of Tara’s clothing as she declared, “You’ve been a very naughty girl.” Hearing her voice amplified and pumped through in stereo made Willow cringe. _Sound too? Ugh…_

 _But Tara had been naughty. Extremely naughty. We were under explicit instructions to keep it low key. Buffy didn’t want anything to spoil her fun._

 _So what did Tara do? She went out and granted a wish to some college student, turned his girl into a fyarl demon and set her lose. I was all day cleaning up that mess._

The image quality was amazing for a hidden camera. Tara stood naked now, all but her collar, with her back in full view of the camera. The contract written on her skin was perfectly legible. Willow wondered if Buffy had taken the time to translate the ancient Sanskrit. _Just how much does she actually know?_

Watching herself was more than a little disturbing. That didn’t keep her body from acting stupid. This was way better than any amateur porno she’d ever seen. Most people who do that are ugly. There was nothing ugly about Tara. The nagging thrum between her legs and associated sogginess was exactly what Willow didn’t need.

She grabbed Tara by the collar and yanked her over to the desk, shoving her forward. Tara caught the edge of the desk in her hands and pushed her bottom out. Her full breasts jiggled. She looked like she was having fun. Her excitement ended when she saw the objects in front of her. Her knees bent. She tried to tuck her bottom in. _I was pissed. I picked everything she really hated._

 _Which is funny, ’cause Tara was a masochist. And not one of those ‘I have daddy issues so I like to be spanked’ impostors, but a full-blown backlog of behavioral issues, ‘brain in backwards,’ ‘whip me, beat me, make me bleed’ **masochist.** It didn’t help that she healed like nothing I’ve ever seen. So really what she didn’t like was being ignored. Everything else was negotiable. _

Willow was in full ‘la la la’ mode, because on the big screen she’d just seized Tara by the hips and lifted her ass, kicked her feet apart and grabbed something off the desk. _Enough._ Her naughty, evil other self was reaching between Tara’s legs as the actual Willow went for the mouse. _Too much._ While she was clicking around, trying to close the video without watching, Tara groaned. _Enough!_ _My life’s complicated enough! The last thing I need is to watch myself punish my now-dead slave while my undead Mistress waits for me in the next room._

 _No one needs that. It’s bad enough I’m gonna wonder what she thought. I’ll wonder if she even got what half that stuff was. But I guess she figured it out by the end of the video. And there are others too, I’m sure. Odds are, Buffy knows as much about kink as I do._  

Willow realized that she was breathing hard. _Well, that’s just stupid._ She made herself stop. _I am stupid. I’m stupid and dumb._ _And my luck, she’s probably wondering what happened to me by now._

 _Can’t I just have a few more minutes to sit in mortified peace?_

 _Not really. Besides would a few minutes help?_

 _Not really. I should delete this._

 _No. I really, really, really want to, but I shouldn’t. It’s not mine._

 _My guess, Buffy and I are gonna have a long talk really soon. Like probably now._

 _Boy, won’t that be fun?_

Willow put everything back exactly the way she’d found it before she left the room. When she entered the other room, Buffy had her feet up on the coffee table and a Cosmo in her lap. Leafing through it, seemingly apathetic, she grumbled, “Don’t even think you’re gonna do that shit to me.”

If there had been a small, dark hole to climb into, Willow would’ve been there, folding herself into a tight little ball. But there wasn’t. The only retreat was the window seat and she took it. The problem was that it was really getting light now. So, she leaned against the wall, clinging to the shadows.

The pool churned, venting through the grates in the stone walkway beside it. Part of her wanted to enjoy the show, but Buffy’s words still hung in the air. Willow had to explain. _How do I even begin?_

 _At the beginning. It’s tradition. And it’s only fair. She’s shared a lot of stuff with me. I’ve asked questions and she’s answered them all. What have I given her?_

“Do you remember when Amy got mixed up with Rack?” Willow asked.

Willow jumped when Buffy replied, “Uh-huh,” from right behind her. Buffy wrapped her arms around Willow’s waist.

Willow looked down at the hands on her tummy. Buffy’s chin rested on her shoulder. It was almost nice in a really weird, ‘way too intrusive for the moment’ sort of way. But she didn’t have anywhere to go. Trapped between Buffy and the light, she whispered, “Let the spell be ended.”

As the magical barrier shimmered and vanished, a massive cloud of steam billowed from the pool. Underneath the steam, silver water boiled.

Even with the intrusion, Willow couldn’t help appreciating the beauty. “Pretty,” she whispered. Mist wafted from the pool’s surface. Caught in the gentle air current, it drifted away.

Buffy echoed, “Pretty much a mess.” She turned her head, nuzzling Willow’s neck as she snickered. “But, yeah…very cool.” She reached over to flip the switch. As the steel barrier slid closed, she turned Willow to face her. “Now what were you going to tell me?” Buffy whispered.

Willow couldn’t bring herself to meet Buffy’s eyes. “It’s just…”

Taking Willow’s chin, Buffy tried to force the point, but Willow shied away. Buffy gave up and said, “Look, Will, I don’t care who you fuck or how, so long as you don’t expect that from me.”

That was enough. Willow twisted free, stomped to the door. “That’s not how it is!” _She doesn’t understand at all. She thinks I want that!_

 _Well, I did. But I didn’t. It was fun. Tara made a great puppy. But it wasn’t—_

 _There wasn’t—_

Willow let out a harrumph and folded her arms. Torn between storming out of the room and spinning around to yell, she stared at the fake wooden door. _It’d serve her right. But would she really care?_

 _Probably not._

 _Thing is, neither thing’s useful. She may care if I can make her understand._

Buffy passed behind her, but didn’t stop. The chain rattled when she lifted it from the coffee table.

It didn’t really matter what Buffy was doing. Willow spoke her mind. “You never answered me.”

“What? You mean that shit with Amy?” Buffy replied.

The chain clattered against the glass shelf. Willow understood she was putting it away. _Huh, it’s over._ “Guess we’ve got the house to ourselves now,” she mumbled. _Woo and hoo._

 _Why’d I even say that?_

“Yeah, all except for the rodent in the basement,” Buffy replied as she closed the cabinet doors.

“What rodent?” Willow asked, cursing herself for playing into the distraction.

“I kept one employee. The only useful one of the whole bunch.”

As Buffy filled in the news, Willow walked over to the desk and took a seat. _She doesn’t care. Why should I?_ When she looked up, Buffy was seated on the couch with her feet on the coffee table. Curious, she asked, “Dalton?” _Because I do. And why shouldn’t I?_

Buffy nodded, intoning, “Um-huh.”

Willow turned her attention to her hands. “That ‘shit with Amy’ as you put it wasn’t fun,” she mumbled. _She doesn’t get to slough this off. I need her to understand. It’s important that she does. She may not get that, but that doesn’t make it any less true._

It didn’t surprise Willow at all that Buffy simply ticked off the facts, dry and cold, “It was necessary. Amy was getting too powerful. And there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t have gone rogue. If she’d come over to our side, it would’ve thrown everything off balance. I didn’t need another witch.”

 _You were having trouble controlling the one you had. You won’t say it, but we both know how it was._

 _It would’ve been fine if Rack had just listened. Go figure, the misogynist prick didn’t hear a word I said. He was too busy trying to get in my pants. When Amy returned, it was business as usual. So, Rack became a non-issue._

“I agree,” Willow replied. “I agreed with you then. But you need to see that it complicated things for me.” She combed her fingers through her hair. “Vengeance demons spend their entire lives, sometimes thousands of years, in subservience to humanity. It’s only natural that some of them would take that role literally. Like the genie in the bottle, only with more—”

Buffy chimed in, “Really? You mean like Aladdin?”

The comment was cute and innocent. Willow grinned. Really, it was a total mindfuck. She snapped to the image from the video, mentally replacing herself and Tara. The big blue guy with the heavy chin bent over the desk while the little guy with the funny hat spanked him. Robin Williams’ voice rang out, begging for mercy in a thick, silly accent. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shudder in horror.

Recovering from the minor meltdown, she looked up. Buffy was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. _Okay, that’s just about enough Disney for one psychotic break. I’m cutting you off, Missy._

Willow started, “You did catch the—?” deciding it was pointless. _Y’know what? Have it your way._ “Yeah, sorta like that,” she placated. “Those legends come from somewhere.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow. _Vixen knows exactly what she’s doing. I’m not buying the innocent act for an instant._

 _Umm…_

 _Whatever. Back to my point. I had a point, didn’t I?_

Rolling her eyes, hanging her head and shaking it, Willow soldiered on. “Anyway, vengeance demons sometimes bind themselves to other evil beings. To do that, they have to serve two masters, but the wish always takes precedence.” _And that’s what happened. That’s why it all fell apart. Tara was doing her job. I was doing mine. The timing was just awful. We were both serving different masters._  

“Tara belonged to Rack,” Willow explained. “When I killed him, I became her Mistress. I didn’t have a choice. She was magically bound to me.” She sniffed and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Well, I could’ve broken the spell, but there’s no telling what she might’ve done. The smart thing—” _Instead, I made it stronger. It was the right thing to do._

Buffy interjected, “So, you killed her because…?”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Understanding in her eyes, Buffy cast Willow a glance and stood up, making her way to the window. As she shut the drapes, Willow went on, “Vengeance demons start off human. People with really crappy pasts. They have to do something big to get D’Hoffryn’s attention.”

Time was running out. Buffy was preparing to leave.

“Did you know that he was interested in me?” Willow asked. That struck a nerve. Buffy turned. Willow had her full attention now. “I declined. Unlike Tara, I couldn’t serve two masters.” She paused to let that sink in. “I could no more—”

Buffy said, “I get it,” sounding annoyed.

But it didn’t matter. Willow kept going. “Talk about setting myself up to play some nasty games.”

“Will, I get it.” Buffy’s voice sounded over Willow’s. The discussion was over. She walked out the door, calling back, “I’m gonna grab a shower.”


	11. Connect the Dots

Seemingly indifferent to Willow’s company, Buffy waited for the elevator. _When I handed her that card, I got that she was gonna stumble across that room sooner or later. But why’d it have to be so soon?_

 _Willow as a vengeance demon? Really? Now there’s a cheery thought. I’m way too tired to deal with this crap now._

The doors opened and Buffy stepped inside. She leaned against the wall next to the controls and pressed the number three. _S’pose I should be thanking my lucky stars that she’s not upset. She has every right. She could be yelling and screaming. And my head could be pounding. Wouldn’t that be fun?_

The elevator began to descend. Buffy snuck a peek as Willow went to the opposite wall. _Or I don’t think she’s upset. She doesn’t look upset._

A bundle of leather hung folded over Willow’s right arm. There was too much for it to just be one coat. It occurred to Buffy just how sweet it was for Willow to bring her coat too. And that she didn’t deserve the sweetness. But mostly her brain was numb. Her thoughts wandered like a litter of curious kittens in a room full of butterflies. They were just as fuzzy, but not nearly so cute. Holding onto one of the squirmy, sharp-clawed little bastards for more than a moment or two was way too much to deal with.

When the doors slid open, Buffy glanced across the compartment. Willow was staring at her. It took a second for Buffy to understand ‘why’ and ‘what.’ She looked down. The left sleeve of her shirt was torn and bloody at the upper arm. _Goddamned shovel. That was just wrong._ She inspected the wound as they moved down the hallway. It looked a whole lot worse than it was. The cut had almost healed. _I seriously need to find another gardener._

 _I’ll add that to my list. It may happen sometime next year._

Buffy reached her room and entered, using her card. She was a little surprised that Willow didn’t follow. She held the door and motioned her reluctant companion inside. Once Willow had joined her, Buffy shut the door and got right down to business. Getting clean was way overdue. She stripped on her way to the bathroom, pausing to toss her shirt in the trash and the rest of her clothes in the hamper. _It’s a shame. I kinda liked that shirt._

 _Another thing for the low end of my list. Replacing my shirt can go right after the gardener. I’ll be doing good if I remember any of that tomorrow._

Buffy walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After giving it a moment to warm up, she adjusted the temperature, stepped inside and shut the door. Showers were never fun. The sensation of pins and needles made her cringe when the water hit her skin. _At least it’s warm._

 _Weird, the only thing that feels even remotely right touching me is her. I never would’ve guessed._

Skipping the shower gloves, she went for the sponge. On the best days, she couldn’t feel well enough to know if she was scrubbing herself raw. Alone that was fine, but with Willow in the next room, paying attention was a better idea. She poured a little soap into the sponge and resisted the urge to rush through. That never went well either. _It’s not like it’d matter. I heal so fast now. I just don’t want her flipping out on me again. I think we’ve hit our quota of that for the day. Maybe the week._

 _I can hope._

Buffy snickered. _If she’s not careful, I might get the impression that she actually cares about me. No good could come of that._

 _Even if it doesn’t make any sense at all. How could someone like her possibly be attracted to me? I mean, look at me._

Buffy did just that. Even covered in soap suds, her body looked disfigured and gross. _I don’t get it._

 _I really hate it when the list of crap I don’t understand gets longer than the crap I do._

Stepping back into the spray, she rinsed off and wetted her hair.

 _She’s confusing, but the real stumper tonight is me. Luke’s been calling me Mistress for years. Totally creepy. It always made me want to smack him._

Buffy grabbed a bottle of shampoo. Her shower was almost done. It couldn’t be over soon enough for her. She rushed through washing, rinsing and conditioning her hair.

 _You’d think I feel the same way about Will. But **no** …that’d be way too sensey. She just implies it and I go all quivery._

 _She didn’t even say the damned word!_

 _I melted._

 _The huge difference…_

 _She means it.  And not just with the other stuff. This isn’t business. It’s something else. She means it in an ‘I’ll do anything to make you happy’ kinda way._

 _I’ve never had that. I’ve never even dreamt of having that._

 _Weird._

 _No, I’m not gay. Not even a little._

Buffy was as clean as she was likely to get, so she turned off the shower and grabbed a towel on her way out. _But technically, one of something can be an anomaly, right?_

 _Whatever helps you sleep at night._

She laughed at her own stupidity as she ruffled her hair with the towel. _I’m such an idiot._ Drying off worked out about as well as getting clean. It was a little easier to ignore because she was in control of what was touched and how. But really, both things amounted to a bunch of cringe-worthy sensations that she rushed through as fast as she could.

 _Not that I have a clue what I want, but I’m positive I don’t want that in the literal way. It just seems silly. Like some sort of stupid game._

 _How could anyone want that? Willow made it sound like it was an actual need for Tara. I can’t imagine needing to be hit, wanting to be humiliated. What I can imagine is taking someone’s head off for it. That’s about where my imagination on the subject ends._

All she had to do now was dry her hair. She hung her towel up and got to it. It puzzled her that she wanted so much to be done. _It’s not like that was fun. There’s no sign that it’s gonna get fun any time soon either. Being around Will’s just stressful. There’s so much shit._

Buffy turned the blow dryer on high and picked up a brush. The air felt nice. This was her favorite part of getting clean. She closed her eyes and leaned against the counter, just enjoying the sweet fragrance of juniper from her shampoo. _I could always sleep in the Jacuzzi. Like that hasn’t happened before. I always wake up feeling like my brain’s been poached._

She giggled. _Really, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t want to spank Will for something, so I guess I can sort of see it. Usually it’s just for opening her mouth._

 _Yeah, uh…_

 _No._

The high-pitched whir of the blow dryer pulsed as she waved it over her hair. That combined with the warm currents of air made her feel numb. Her brain actually shut up. She enjoyed the dullness for a few moments before shutting the dryer off and leaving the room to face the music.

It wasn’t late enough for the sun to really be bright, but on the other end of her room, closer to the bed there was a nice wedge of sunlight shining on the hardwood floor. She walked right into it.

Willow hadn’t moved a muscle. She was still right where Buffy had left her. The coats were even still in her arms. And now, her brow was doing that crinkley thing again.

Smiling, Buffy glanced over her shoulder and said, “Special coating. Sunlight without those annoying, flamey side effects.”

No answer came.

 _Wow. Well, so much for her not being pissed._

 _Why is it I’d rather face another twenty vamps than one pissed off Willow?_

 _I gotta do something. Maybe if I just went to bed?_

 _Nah. Not proactive enough. She’d probably still be standing there when I woke up._

 _If I was lucky._

 _There has to be something. What did she want?_

 _Shit. She wanted to talk. Someone shoot me now. Please?_

 _Why is it that guys are so much easier to deal with? You just tell them to beat it and they usually do. The last thing they want is to talk about their feelings._

 _Well. I guess it’s time to test a theory. Let’s see just how much she wants to make me happy._

Buffy made up her mind and turned around. _I’m screwed._ Plastering on a sweet smile carried her across the room. That was the best defense she had. She took the coats from Willow’s arms and tossed them at the couch. Reaching for the belt of Willow’s dress, Buffy asked, “You aren’t turning into a prude on me, are you?” as she untied it.

Still nothing.

 _I’m so, **so** screwed._

 _Alrighty then, I’ve got nothing left to lose. It can only go up from here._

 _Let’s see, is there’s another tired old expression that fits?_ She mulled it over.Nothing came to mind. _None that actually fit. You have to be pretty pathetic to have nothing left to lose. I know. I’ve been. It sucked. And I’d like to think we’re a couple of steps above the bottom. I mean, I hope._

 _Hell, I may even beg._

She reached for the hem of Willow’s dress and peeled it over her head. It surprised Buffy when Willow just raised her arms. _This was gorgeous on her. It fit her so well._ She couldn’t bear to just cast the dress aside, so she took it over to the closet and hung it with the rest of her dry cleaning. While she was at it, she put up the coats.

Nothing had changed when she reemerged. _At least she’s not yelling. That’s a start._

She paused on her way back to press a button on the remote that sat on the end table in the corner formed by the couch and loveseat. As the drapes slid into place, covering the long row of French doors on the back wall of the room, she walked over and took Willow’s hand.

Buffy whispered, “I’m sorry.” She bit her lower lip. _I haven’t said that in years. Not since—_

 _And I’ve said it how many times to her?_

 _Too many._

Buffy’s apology was met the same way as everything else had been. She was crestfallen. She held Willow’s hand and went to the bed, giving her the latitude to break free. To her surprise, she felt no resistance. She lifted the covers back, got into bed and moved over. _I wonder if I’ll have to put her in bed too._

The waterbed was so warm. It was wonderful. Buffy wanted to just relax and enjoy it.

Willow got into bed of her own accord, but she still wasn’t talking.

After covering them both up, Buffy stared up at the ceiling and said the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t understand.” _Brilliant start. I could just make a list._

When her words fell on deaf ears, she kept trying. “I don’t see how someone could want that. It makes no sense.” _This is gonna be a really one-sided conversation. But I guess that doesn’t matter._

“It freaks you out when you’re not in control, right?”

The delicate sound of Willow’s voice made Buffy smile. She rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand. “Yeah…I mean, I guess.”

Willow angled her head just enough to meet Buffy’s eyes. “Then why’s it so hard to believe that there might be other people who wig when they’re in control?”

 _I love it when she does that. That makes complete sense now. Well, not really. Not complete. I still can’t see the games, but the rest—that much is sensey. What else was there?_

Buffy’s forehead crinkled. There was a question, but it needed work. _I’m not even sure how to put it. Or if I should put it. I may be pushing it._ Keeping the conversation alive was more important, so she did the best she could.“You said Tara didn’t love you.” _Ugh. This may piss her off. But she’s so bent on making me understand. Or I guess she is. Maybe…_ “I don’t get how she could spend—” She lowered her eyes. “How could she do that and not care? It was like she was worshipping you or something.”

Willow made a curious little sound, like she’d just discovered something new and intriguing.

That vocal tick and silence that followed made Buffy wonder if she needed to explain more. _Or maybe I should’ve said less. I hope I didn’t blow it. That’d be just my luck. I hate talking about this shit. Actually, I hate talking period. Doing is so much easier._

Willow appeared deeply thoughtful. Finally, she said, “I can see how you might think that.” Extracting her hand from beneath the blankets, she brushed her hair back. As her hand came to rest on her tummy, she concluded, “I dunno. Maybe she did. But it wasn’t like you mean.”

“How else is there?” Buffy asked, realizing that she’d cut Willow off a moment too late.

“Oh, there are lots of ways,” Willow replied, untroubled by the interruption. A sweet little smile warmed her face. Something about it set Buffy at ease. “No fair distracting me,” Willow scolded playfully. “It’d take me all day to explain that. And I don’t think you’d be any closer to understanding when I was done.”

Willow scanned Buffy’s face for a moment before pressing on. “What if I said, there’s nothing that makes me happier than seeing you smile? Would you understand that?”

“Yeah,” Buffy replied. The sheer lack of hesitation baffled her. She didn’t even have to think about it.

“It’s the same thing,” Willow said. Her answer came so quickly and was so resolute that it took Buffy a moment to comprehend. In that moment, Willow filled in. “Seeing you smile, knowing that I made you happy makes me happy.”

The real surprise was that Buffy didn’t doubt it for a minute. But that solid feeling that came with sudden understanding didn’t last. She reeled to catch up when Willow went on. “Seeing you tremble. Hearing you sigh and beg me for more. Panting and moaning. Making you feel so good. Better than you ever imagined you could feel. Watching every muscle in your body tense with pleasure. Listening to you cry out.” Her eyebrow arched. “And knowing that I did that?”

Willow’s eyes were filled with desire. Her was voice was like silk. And the smell of her washed across Buffy’s senses. A tingle shivered down her spine. She wasn’t touching Willow at all, but there was electricity between them.

 _Oh…’kay, well, uh…isn’t she just full of surprises?_

Buffy shut her eyes, struggling to shake it off. The rub was she wasn’t even sure she wanted to. She just knew she couldn’t.

 _Funny thing, I think I get it. That look in her eyes, that’s not just about lust. She wants to, yeah, but it’s more than that._

“So, what you’re saying is there’s a difference between love and sex?” Buffy whispered.

Willow chirruped, “Bingo,” startling Buffy and snapping up her attention. Willow winked and turned to face the ceiling.

An uneasy giggle shook Buffy and jiggled the waterbed. _Well…that’s pretty much it for me. Good thing too. I might not survive another answer like that._

 _There was her, but asking about that. Not smart. Not even necessary. Questioning a good thing for no reason never turns out well._

 _I suppose I could ask this._ “That control thing, is that what you need?” It took Buffy a second to realize what she’d said, then she stammered, “Not the—’cause—well, I really don’t think…I’m not sure I could do that.”

Willow spoke through a rampant case of the giggles, “Don’t worry, Buffy. I’m pretty sure I don’t want that.” She made a sound somewhere between a sniff and a sigh. Calm and completely serious, she said, “But yeah…to some degree. I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case.”

“Fair enough,” Buffy replied.

A sleepy, comfortable silence followed. It was like some imagined weight had lifted. Willow never turned back. That didn’t bother Buffy. She let her head fall, resting it on her upper arm and just watched. Willow’s hand moved under the covers. She went from stroking her tummy to touching herself. _She probably doesn’t realize it. Or maybe she does and she hasn’t realized she probably doesn’t want to._

 _Which is just insane. Not to mention bullshit. I’m not even sure where she got that idea. It’s not like I want to stop her. I truly couldn’t care less._  

 _But really, I do care. She’s used to one thing and she does a complete one-eighty. How can that be good? That’s part of why she’s been flipping out._

 _I know there’ve been times when I just wanted to remove that part of my body. Like it’d do any good. That’s just the last thing I want to feel and sometimes it won’t—_

Willow noticed, first the watching, then the touching. When she jerked her hand away, Buffy caught it and said, “No.” She made it perfectly clear from her tone that this wasn’t negotiable.

The crinkles returned again. Buffy considered reaching out to smooth them out. Instead, she smiled and gently placed Willow’s hand back where it’d been. Willow moved with her, placing her arm around Buffy as she snuggled closer. “This isn’t something I can give you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” Buffy whispered. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t move her hand. Willow’s fingers were so soft to the touch, moist and warm. The scent wafting up from under the covers was tantalizing. It made Buffy wonder whether what she’d said was true.

As her resolve wavered, fear crept in. Remembrances of being touched loomed in the haze. She wanted to recoil, but held her ground. Conquering fear was nothing new. Instinctively, she went to something familiar. Something she knew would be okay.

Their lips met. The passion was instant and volatile. Willow’s hand moved, taking Buffy’s along for the ride as they kissed. Willow’s fingers slid inside. Breaking the kiss, she moaned into Buffy’s mouth.

Supple skin rested under Buffy’s fingertips. She wanted to run her fingers over it just to feel the texture, but she never got a chance. So many things happened at once, she barely registered them all. Willow brought her thigh up. It pressed against Buffy’s center. White spots splashed behind her eyes. Lighting struck, filling the air with a charge. The hairs on her body stood on end. A tingle coursed over her skin. Almost through her skin. It wasn’t unpleasant, but there was something infinitely dangerous about that moment. A sense of foreboding.

Something thick and rigid thrust inside her. Willow’s nails bit into her ass driving it deeper. Her body tensed. It was irrational and she knew it, a hallucination just like the memories of her mother’s lifeless eyes that haunted her. There was nothing.

 _Nothing._

Buffy clung to the rational, struggling to push the delusion away, but in her mind Xander’s hands were all over her. It was just the blanket. She knew it had to be the blanket, but the light caresses made her want to scream. She needed to, but she couldn’t find her voice. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear. They were more like mocking coos. She loved him so much. All of those warm, fuzzy feelings clashed with what she knew. Part of her swooned with pleasure, but deep inside, she felt sick.

Confusion consumed her. She felt helpless. Desperate for breath, she gasped. Her body was sticky and she hated it. Naked and trembling, she lay alone, feeling so small. Her throat was tight. She couldn’t breathe. Gradually, it came to her just how stupid that was. She forced herself to stop. Somehow she’d gotten to the other side of the bed. The blankets were beneath her. She had no memory of moving. She stared at the ceiling, struggling to remember. There was something else. Something important.

“Buffy?” Willow’s voice cut through the haze.

Reality crashed in and in that instant, it all meshed. Being a victim or being an assailant. The ideas came together into one cohesive thing. None of that was necessary. Buffy could practically taste it. She wanted it.

A burst of speed pinned Willow to the bed. Her eyes went wide with fear. Buffy held her wrists, glaring until Willow looked away.

“Only you,” she whispered, pulling the blankets over them. When Willow met her eyes, she went on, “Never touch me like that again.” She guided Willow’s hand between them.

 _That’s right. I’m giving you exactly what you asked for._

It was natural, instinctual, Willow understood.

Buffy felt Willow’s finger slip away and held their hands still. “Not without permission.” She eased her grip. “Now, cum for me.”

Willow whispered, “Yes, Mistress.”

Her reply caught Buffy by surprise again. A kiss had been in the plans, but she couldn’t make herself move. She stared, trying to figure Willow out. Unable to see through the sheepish grin, Buffy finally chided, “Please don’t call me that.” A hint of a laugh caused her voice to pitch and tremble. She just wanted Willow to understand.

 _This isn’t that. Or it is, but it isn’t. We don’t need those games. I don’t want to play either of those roles. And I don’t want that for her. Surely there has to be something in between._  

The side Willow’s face twitched. Her grin went from sheepish to silly and lopsided. When her expression finally broke into broad, cheerful smile, Buffy kissed it away.  

The rhythm Buffy set was slow and steady. As she guided Willow’s hand, soft, smooth skin, like silk, glided beneath her fingertips. She considered moving Willow aside. She wanted to feel everything, but decided to wait. She had time. And easing into this wasn’t as scary. She imagined what it might feel like instead. That was enough. Perfect.

Breaking the kiss, Buffy looked into Willow’s eyes. The passion was back, but Buffy longed for more. She wanted the same intensity without the pain. Tightening her grip on Willow’s hand, Buffy thrust. It was just hard enough. Right on the edge of what she suspected would hurt.

Willow arched her back and moaned.

 _That’s right._

Though their bodies barely touched, Buffy felt completely connected. Her body hummed, but she ignored her own prickling skin. She stole another kiss as Willow gulped for breath. The kiss deepened briefly until desperate yearning boiled over.

Willow tore free and cried out. The sound was like music, beautiful in every way. Buffy couldn’t recall ever hearing her name and feeling more. Nothing she’d experienced compared.

She turned onto her back and lay perfectly still. The hand she’d used to control Willow rested on her pillow. She breathed in. The odor was so human, kind of salty, like sweat, only not. It was different. Tangier. It made her hungry. Her mouth watered. She considered tasting her fingers, but thought better of it. The look Willow might give her would be too much to take. Imagining was fine for now.

Willow snuggled up against her side. A comfortable stillness carried them closer to sleep. Buffy caressed the small of Willow’s back, only vaguely aware of what she was doing. The gesture was soothing. Soft skin flowed under her fingertips. She would’ve been happy to let Morpheus have his way. He was a fickle, tricky bastard. But mostly his elusiveness was her fault. She wasn’t sure whether the promise she’d made had just been in her head or if she’d said it out loud. Either way, show and tell hadn’t been enough.

 _I really need sleep. We both do._

 _I can’t. I won’t. I know how I am. If I let this sit, I’ll be up brooding all night. Either that or I’ll be waking her up in a few hours to—_

 _Yeah. No. That isn’t fair. It doesn’t matter whether I actually promised or not. I owe her this. If she’s going to follow me, no matter what, she deserves to know exactly what I am._

Buffy shut her eyes, remembering something she’d wanted to forget for years. No matter how hard she tried, it’d never gone away. “It was the explosions,” she whispered. _This is gonna suck._

Feeling the ‘huh’ coming on, Buffy headed it off. “It didn’t matter to me where I was or when it was. I’d just fed on a homeless man. The kind of person who’s so lost, so out of touch with the world that—” she shuddered “—well, personal hygiene wasn’t a thing. I was amazed and disgusted. He actually had fleas.” She turned her head. Her attention came to rest on a thin strip of sunlight that shown in through a break in the curtains. _It’s amazing I’m here._

“My skin crawled as I lay on a warehouse floor. I was a wreck. Haunted, half insane, barely alive. A ghost.” The list felt so corny Buffy followed it up by grumbling, “You know,” and rolling her eyes.  She slipped her hand under the covers. The smell wasn’t right. It didn’t belong with this. “At first I thought it was thunder, but the sound was too hollow. It didn’t cascade and crackle. Just one great, booming thud after another. It echoed off the concrete walls. I was terrified until I realized what it was.”

Willow kissed her. An innocent gesture meant to let Buffy know it was okay. That’s all it took to crumble her resolve. Tears she’d been holding onto forever broke free. Desperate to move on, to focus on anything else, to get over it, she made herself speak through the tears, “I climbed to the roof. It was the most beautiful, horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”  She wiped her eyes in frustration. “Fireworks. It was New Years. I sat there, watching them and tried to remember how long it’d been. A week? Maybe two? Who knows?”

It felt like a long, dark, murky dream. Things hadn’t gotten any clearer with time. And they hadn’t actually gotten clear until long after that. All that was left was a blur surrounding a few lucid moments. “Can you imagine being alive somehow, but not really alive? The nights blended together. I don’t know.” Buffy gave up. Her hand fell to her side. “I have no idea when I died.” She shook her head. “I needed to know. Something inside told me it’d be okay if I could just remember. I couldn’t deal with the idea that she’d killed me on Christmas or Christmas Eve, so I told myself that it had to have been the twenty-third.”

Feeling torn, Buffy sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. The desire to run away gnawed at her. It was the second morning in a row she found herself speaking words she never imagined she’d say, but there was no spite in her this time. She needed Willow to understand. She just wasn’t sure how to do this without that. Malice had always been her shield.

Buffy stood up, walked into the light and parted the drapes. It was a beautiful morning. “It might’ve been before or after. I really don’t know.” Whispering her confession to the sunlit patio made it easier, “I lied. Or maybe, you might say, ‘I bent the truth.’ I had to. Knowing the date made the memories something I could deal with. The truth is, I’m nothing special, just a cheerleader who was raped, tortured and murdered.” The light hurt her eyes. She squinted and turned away, keeping her back to Willow.

She wasn’t anxious to know what Willow thought. That hastened her story along. “I killed again that night, this time for money. I got cleaned up. The next night I went to a familiar place. A coffee house I used to hang out at with my friends. Cass was there. She totally lost it.” She strode to the closet to find her cigarettes. “It took her a while to even calm enough to talk. She told me that some old British guy had been snooping around looking for me.” Having something else to focus on helped. Buffy spoke conversationally as she went through her jacket pockets. “My Watcher, no doubt. She was suspicious of him. He’d bailed right after my family turned up dead.” Buffy emerged from the closet with a cigarette clutched between her lips. “Getting that little detail out of her was fun.” The way she laughed said different.

It didn’t help that Willow was sitting up now, watching her like a hawk. Buffy kept moving. A small crystal dish sat on the dresser between the closet and bathroom doors. It looked like an ashtray to her. She went and grabbed it up, dumping the jewelry out before she went on, “Cass thought she was delivering the bad news. She had no idea that I could still see their faces.” She took her cigarettes, make-shift ashtray and lighter to the end table by the couch. “I pretended like I didn’t know. Acting upset wasn’t so much an act.”

Once her hands were free, Buffy lit her cigarette and took a deep drag. Exhaling, she said through the smoke, “She knew my mom and dad weren’t getting along. I told her I’d run away. She totally bought it.” She rested the ashtray in her palm and walked to the foot of the bed. “There was another guy she described as ‘hunky for street trash.’ He wouldn’t give up. He just kept hanging around. She said his name was Angel.” She flicked her ash. “The name made my skin scrawl.” _At least the nicotine’s helping._

 _At least I think it’s helping._

“It wasn’t that hard to put together.” Another bitter laugh cut into her spiel. “Darla was a talker. She thought she had it all figured. Pretty obvious she didn’t. Turning me wasn’t a monumental mistake.” She hissed. “Not even. Stupid bitch.” Her cigarette became a distraction. She shaped the cherry against the bottom of the ashtray as she went on, “This vamp named Angelus had been her man. He was her inspiration. He liked to torture little girls. Kill their families, violate their bodies. Sometimes he’d turn them. Other times not.” She sighed and took a drag. “That was before he went and got himself saddled with a soul. He was supposedly one of the good guys. Where was he while his bitch was—?” She stopped short. That was enough. “Whatever.”

It took Buffy a few moments to collect her thoughts. She avoided Willow’s attention by returning to the couch. When she finally did move on, it was by backing up. “Anyway, Cass had been my friend for years, but seeing her like that. The way she smelled. Her nervous little laugh. The smile when she realized it was me and I might be okay. That coy thing really smart girls do. All that emotion. I just couldn’t stand it. I wanted her so bad.”

It took half of her strength to turn around and the other half to admit the truth, “I killed her.” She bolstered what was left with artificial patience. _Too bad it doesn’t so much pass for courage._ “And she killed what was left of me.” Smoke wafted out of her mouth. It hung in the air around her. Her eyes narrowed. “Sound familiar?”

Willow didn’t budge.

Buffy was grateful for the silence. It made the whole thing easier. She could just talk. The window drew her attention. She made her way there. “Finding Angel was no big. I just went where I’d normally be.” She couldn’t make herself stop. The walking turned into restrained pacing. It was almost like running, just lots more controlled. “When he showed up, I got the full lecture. Chosen One, great force for good, blah, blah, blah…”

She took another drag and paused. The cherry on her cigarette was way too long. Holding it straight up and down, she tapped against the bottom of the ashtray. It splintered and broke apart. “Knowing why I died was totally helpful.” Twirling the cigarette between her fingers, she held it at an angle against the bottom of the ashtray. The cherry formed into a cone as she said, “Apparently I was s’posed to be some sort of huge deal. There were supposedly even prophecies about me. Like I was some kind of messiah.” She began to pace again. “Sheer and utter bullshit…or that’s what I thought at the time.”

Buffy took another sharp drag. “He said he was _sorry_.” Her tone turned mocking. “That he’d failed me. He tried to reason with me. Said that he identified with me. ‘All you want is to watch this whole world burn.’ His words, not mine. He offered to help me and I killed him for it.”

Completing another pass, Buffy turned away from the window. It shocked her when Willow met her gaze. Buffy almost walked headlong into her. As Willow led her back to bed, Buffy whispered, “He let me. He didn’t even fight. That still blows me away.” She crushed her cigarette out, placed the ashtray on the nightstand and dutifully crawled back into bed. “From where I sit right now, that was probably the worst mistake of my life.”

Willow snuggled up beside her, but it was different this time. She gently guided Buffy to lie on her shoulder. Willow stroking her hair was better than nicotine.

“I came to Sunnydale to kill Darla’s ‘family’,” Buffy whispered. “Spike, Drusilla and this old vamp who’d sired her called ‘The Master’.” Sarcasm thickened the last two words. “How pretentious do you have to be to call yourself that?” A snort of a snicker slipped out. Anger brewed just below the surface.

“It was dicey,” she admitted. “Total ‘Her eyes! What happened to her eyes?’ shit. I almost didn’t make it out of there alive the first time we met.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “But you see, thing is, if you’ve got nothing to lose, you can totally win.” The hot prickly feeling in her head receded. Gaining control was good, but without a little heat to fuel the fire, she was fading fast. “It’s like a suicide bomber. You can’t stop that. One person completely focused on a goal and willing to do whatever it takes can do anything.” Her eyelids felt heavy. They drifted shut. “The second time I faced him, I turned The Master’s churchy cavern into a crater. I’m not even sure how I survived. I didn’t want to.”

She felt kind of silly. Another change of power had happened right under her nose. She was happy to let go. It was nice to just feel that somebody cared. “Spike and Drusilla,” she whispered. “Now that was a thrilling fight. Pretty much everyone sleeps.” She sighed. “A five alarm fire is a foolproof way to ruin pretty much anyone’s day. It’s not like I knew anything about fighting. I had to fake it. The only reason I’m here today is pure, dumb luck. Go figure, I survived because I didn’t care. I haven’t cared for a long, long time.”

Willow’s hand had stopped moving. When Buffy checked to make sure she was awake, Willow met her eyes.

Holding Willow’s gaze for more than a few seconds took more chutzpa than Buffy could muster. Her eyelids fluttered closed again as she mumbled, “Caring again—it’s not easy, but I’m trying.” She needed to get this over with. There was a point. _Making it might be good._ “You see, part of me will always be that broken girl.” Just keeping her tone even was a chore. “I won’t blame you if this changes things. You can walk out that door right now. I won’t stop you.”

Willow was amazing. Without hesitation, she replied, “No.”

There was so much more she could’ve said. Buffy wouldn’t have blamed her one bit for anything, even laughing. She almost laughed herself.

That one tiny word brought a smile to her face.


	12. Ask Me if I Care

Drowsy and comfortable, Willow played possum as she awaited the inevitable. _It’s pretty bad when things get so convoluted that complications bleed over onto stuff that should be simple, like sleep. Sleep shouldn’t be hard._

_Yet—_

She focused on the man who’d slipped into the room through the patio door. He wasn’t a man at all. That he’d entered without opening the door was a pretty fair indicator. There were others, but they were much subtler. _If he’d come within five feet of the bed, he wouldn’t be anything at all._

_Gotta give him credit. He didn’t._

He was on the couch. The way he was watching them was more than a little bit creepy. _S’pose I could toss him back outside, but I’m kind of curious. Besides, he’d probably just come back in. Peskiness usually doesn’t end with just one thing. Best to hear him out. He should go away on his own if we do that._

_Or I hope he will._

_Yeah, **no** , I shouldn’t even go there. Tempting fate is fun and all…and highly productive in the ‘counter’ kind of way, but I’ve got actual stuff, real stuff, stuff that actually matters to fret over. Like Buffy. Touching her last night was dumb. It should’ve been obvious. I knew better. I just—_

_I wanted her so much. And I let that…_

_It was stupid. Stupid, stupid me._

_What amazed me was how quickly she recovered. Really, it was scary._

_Thing is, I think Buffy knows exactly what she needs. She may not know that she knows, but instinctively—_

_I was careful after that. I told her only what she needed to hear. Not that I didn’t mean every word. All three of them. But I gave her room. And she was able to—_

_What she said was terrible. Just awful. But she was amazing._

_I have to be patient and let her lead. She’ll tell me what she needs. Only she can really fix this. And I think she will. I think she really wants to._

_The weird thing is that I think, once she figures this out, it might be normal._

_I mean, not **normal** -normal, but it seems like what she wants is something, umm…_

**  
_Normal._   
**

_That’d be nice. Just being in love. Having something…_

_Uncomplicated maybe? No, uncomplicated doesn’t work either. There’s nothing uncomplicated about Buffy. Or me for that matter. It’s just—_

_It’s probably too much to…_

Buffy stirred.

_…hope for. Umm, yeah…just a smidge._

When she tried to sit up, the man cleared his throat.

_Uh-boy…here comes. Proactive might’ve been—_

Buffy shot upright in bed, clutching the bedspread to her chest.

_Well, I could try to stop her. Wouldn’t that be fun? Next I could take a nap on some…_

The drapes started to slide open.

_Umm…_

He drawled, “Name’s Whis—”

A jerky, sloshy, bobbledy movement prefixed the whimper that came from across the room. _Uh, yeah…that’s pretty much how I thought that’d go._

Whis-his-face exclaimed, “Hey! This was my favorite shirt!” His thick Brooklyn accent caught Willow off guard.

_Huh. It’s not fair, y’know? East Coasters just have much cooler accents._

Buffy stretched, reaching back. This time Willow saw the knife.

_Here we go again. I’d run if I were you._

Buffy loosed the knife as she snarked, “What thrift store’d you steal it from?”

_They sound tough. The **accent** sounds tough. Or he did sound tough—_

The knife thudded and Buffy reached for another.

_That is, before the sucking chest wound. It’s rough to sound tough with one of those. They kind of snuff the tough._

The ‘Whis’ guy was at the door next time he spoke, “Okay…okay…I’ll be downstairs.”

_See, that’s a solid plan—the running._

The knife flew from Buffy’s hand.

_I need coffee._

The door swung open. WhosamaWhisit said, “Oi! Goldilocks…” the knife hit the wall with a thump “…it’s not like I asked for this shit assignment.”

_Might’ve been nice if she’d let him finish telling us who he is. Useful even._

Buffy grabbed another blade. She looked really pissed now. Willow tried to watch her throw it. The movement was just a blur.

The knife struck something solid as Whisamacallit grumbled, “I just go where the Powers send me.” The door slammed shut. He was gone. His voice echoed from the hallway. “I’m beginning to think they hate me!”

Buffy sprung out of bed and tromped to the door, muttering the ‘Carlin Seven’ under her breath. A few creative additions made the list, none of them TV friendly.

Willow stifled a giggle. _Another day in paradise._

Buffy checked the door before she asked, “Will, you awake?”

“Yeah, I’ve been awake,” Willow mumbled and sat up. She brushed her hair back and waited, half expecting Buffy to be upset. _Not exactly sure why, but she isn’t. At least not at me._

Buffy disappeared into the closet, grumping from inside, “Killing before coffee makes me cranky.”

Willow stood up and nearly landed on her butt. She’d just sort of kicked her shoes off next to the bed the previous night. Now they made an excellent obstacle on which to demonstrate her extraordinary grace. _Some vampire I am._ She kicked her shoes out of the way and took a tentative step. Her legs were all wobbly. She caught Buffy’s eye when she emerged from the closet with an armful of leather. “Killing?” Willow asked. “Why killing?”

The armload of clothes hit the top of the dresser. Buffy opened a drawer and took out a pair of panties. She grumbled, “Demon in my room, Will,” as she rushed to put them on. The tone of her voice made it seem as though she felt Willow might’ve missed some critical detail.

Willow found her legs and crossed the room. “Got that,” she said. Buffy passed her an over-sized tee-shirt. Willow accepted the shirt and pulled it over her head as she asked, “When was the last time you stuck a knife in a demon…” looking down, she found the tag and turned the shirt “…and it didn’t, umm…” she threaded her left arm through a sleeve “…try to rip your arm off and beat you with it or—” wriggling her right arm through the other sleeve, she tugged the shirt down “—y’know…do something equally demony and violent?”

Buffy replied, “Pretty much never, but—”

“Hear him out,” Willow said a little too soon. “If he makes a move, then yeah, kill him, but give him a chance. This could be important.” Cutting a grouchy Buffy off wasn’t the best idea. Willow plastered on a sheepish grin to cover.

It was only marginally effective. Buffy didn’t look impressed. Or maybe she was mulling. Willow couldn’t tell. Eventually Buffy’s crankiness gave way to a smirk and whine, “But, Will…”

Willow grinned at the lengths to which Buffy took a four letter name. It was funny…and more to the point a relief. She shrugged. “I’m curious, aren’t you?”

  


* * *

  


As Buffy strode leisurely through the dining room, the annoying, greasy little demon’s voice carried from the kitchen. “God damned vampires! Only thing in the house is coffee and blood.” Both he and the chair groaned when he flopped down.

 _Oh, cool, Will put the blood up. I totally spaced it._ Buffy slowed to eavesdrop, curious what other things the little weasel might have to say.

The chair squeaked. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t leave here in trash bags. Got news for the bosses, serial killer with a soul—still a serial killer.”

Buffy snickered. _I couldn’t have written a better introduction myself. That was good._

The sleazoid was all sorts of interested when Buffy entered the room. She couldn’t’ve cared less. Coffee was far more important. She walked to the counter without paying him any notice.

“Look, kiddo,” he said. “Gimme a chance. Next guy they send won’t be half as charming.”

She removed the used filter from the coffeemaker. “Next guy?” she said as she tossed it in the trash. _Yeah, whatever…anything would be better. This asshole looks like a skinny Louie De Palma._

“Yeah…I got no idea why, but you caught their attention,” he grumbled. “But this won’t stop with me. Next guy—think ‘Predator’.”

Oblivious to his creaking and muttering, Buffy got out a new filter, measured out the coffee, grabbed the pot and went to the sink to fill it. After turning on the filtered water tap, she put the pot under it and turned around.

For a trespasser the little creep was sure making himself right at home. He sat opposite her at the large granite island countertop in the middle of the kitchen. He didn’t exactly look well, but she didn’t exactly care. “You got anything better for this?” he asked, motioning with his free hand to the bloody dishtowel he clutched to his chest.

Buffy rolled her eyes and turned to finish making coffee. When she was done, she strode over to the island to reclaim her knife. His question didn’t interest her at all, so she stepped back to address the threat he’d made. “Means nothing to me. They send it. I kill it.” She leaned against the counter and absently toyed with the blade, both looking and sounding ‘oh, so’ bored. “The only reason I’m not dragging your mutilated corpse out the door right now is because of Will. So start talking and make it good.”  
             
He looked Buffy up and down before he replied, “Okay…but keep in mind you asked, Blondie.” The click of heels on ceramic tile announced Willow’s arrival. His interest turned to her.

Buffy caught the look on the slimy bastard’s face and immediately wanted to throttle him. That ended when she glanced at Willow herself. It was just a quick peek. But the peek turned into a double-take. And the double-take caused Buffy to turn on heel and stare.

Willow had on the most beautiful georgette halter dress. The crinkly beaded, pale mauve silk clung in all the right places and flowed in all the rest. Her calf-length, handkerchief hemmed skirt with floral lace accents swirled around her legs when she reached for some coffee cups. Starting at the heel of her pumps, Buffy traced a line up the back of Willow’s leg to where the seam of her pale silk stockings disappeared under her skirt.

There might’ve been drool if the little cretin hadn’t started to run his mouth again. “See, thing is…” his tone was low and careful at first “…since you got your soul back…” tension rose in his voice “…it’s been business as usual: brutal death, explosions and mayhem.” The last few words, he just blurted out, “Don’t you own a conscience?”

“A what?” Buffy snorted and began to laugh hysterically. She calmed when Willow drew near, reaching around her to place a cup of coffee on the counter. 

Mr. Preachy Pants sounded at his wit’s end. “A conscience, y’know? It should twinge a little when you do something wrong.”

Buffy wasn’t gonna give him squat. _I can’t believe this dork. Go figure, I get the one demon with a priest complex._ She leaned back, casually resting her elbows on the counter. Her attention lingered on the black velvet choker that encircled Willow’s throat. A thin strip of silver banded its front and from it hung a six pointed star. It was kinda pretty. Trouble was, Buffy knew the truth. It was a collar. Tara had worn something very similar. The image—all five seconds of it—was extremely unhelpful. Buffy pushed it from her mind as she told Willow so without saying a word.

It would’ve been so simple to turn and fling the knife. Buffy fiddled with it as she considered her options. _Maybe his face this time? That might slow him down._ The internal debate ended with a reproachful look from Willow. Buffy sighed and pitched the knife into the sink. As she licked the blood from her fingers, Buffy cocked an eyebrow at Willow and smirked.

Her attention fixed on the next most appealing thing. She returned to ogling. Even going so far as to take Willow by the forearms and hold her out at arm’s length. _Sure beats the shit out of confessing my sins to some freakish little sleazeball who broke into my house and bled on my floor. The maid’s going to have a fit._

_Will looks absolutely gorgeous. Somehow, she managed to dress, fix her hair and put on makeup. All in under ten minutes._

_Magic._

His sleaziness finally grew impatient. “Don’t you feel the least little bit of guilt?”

Not that anyone heard him or even noticed he was there. Buffy was way too engrossed in the kiss her salaciousness had earned. She ran her fingertips over the rough, crinkled fabric at the curve of Willow’s hips. Her hands explored, moving up to find bare skin, supple and smooth. It was the perfect complement to the dreamy quality of the kiss. Buffy lingered just savoring the sweetness of Willow’s mouth.

That distracted well enough until what’s-his-face started to babble again and Willow decided she wanted to listen. “Let’s look a minute at what you’ve done since you got your soul back, kid.”

_Why can’t he just shut up? It’s not like I care._

Buffy picked up her coffee cup, took Willow’s hand and led her over to a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Dingus turned around to face them. He raised an eyebrow. “First thing…you turn one of the most powerful witches in the western hemisphere into a demon. Not like she wasn’t a nightmare before, what with all the help you’d already given her, but—”

Willow’s face lit up and she interjected in a perky voice, “Really? Most powerful?”

 _Oh, jeez…yeah._ Buffy sighed. _Here we go._

“Not the point, dollface,” he said.

The nervy bastard’s attention remained focused on Willow long after it should’ve drifted. Buffy wanted to rip his eyes out, but that wasn’t her call. _Go figure, I get vetoed by the redhead and her cute little pout. Meanwhile…_

His entire demeanor turned scornful when the spotlight returned to Buffy. “Then you spent the next five _full_ days tryin’ to lose your soul. Like you could.” Through a snicker he scoffed, “Wishes,” and shook his head. “It wasn’t till crunch time that you bothered with the witch’s soul. And then, only ’cause you were worried about your own ass. And there’s the little matter with the car.”

“They were lawyers!” Buffy spat. _This is unbelievable!_

Exasperation won out. The demon exclaimed, “You parked a Gruppe B Porsche in the lobby of a major law firm, Blondie! Subtle, you’re not.” He wiped his face, lingering to rub his eyes.

Buffy was the picture of innocence when she countered, “A what?” _Okay, I may need to rewind a bit—reevaluate the situation—pricking with him is just too much fun._

He eventually finished accosting his face and muttered under his breath, “The car, kiddo…y’know, the million dollar Porsche?”

Willow interjected, “You did what?” Somehow she got the words out without choking on her giggles.

Buffy spat, “Oh, who gives a shit about some car?” She tilted her head. _It was a nice car._ She admitted, “Okay, maybe it was a shame, but their entire lobby came straight out of an Ikea catalog. Forcing a rethink was a public service.” She joined the ranks of the comically impaired.

_That so wasn’t my fault. We needed an out. Drugs and blood were at the top of my list, so we wound up in some doctor's mid-life cliché-mobile. Go figure, the damn thing was so hot, I ended up reenacting a couple of levels of Grand Theft Auto. I was totally cruising for a spot on the evening news. Then, because the universe hates me…I ran myself completely out of options. I had no choice but to lay low. Embracing mass transit sucked. But sounds like it was a good thing I was that smart._

What’s-his-face had Jiminy Cricketed himself out of an audience, but that didn’t seem to bother him. “Wolfram and Hart _was_ the head office of evil incorporated. But you didn’t know that. Did you?”

Buffy shrugged. _Not really. S’pose the Ikea thing was a pretty solid clue._

“You got lucky,” he said. “More chaos and carnage, just for fun.”

Buffy glanced up. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Goody Two-Shoes was struggling to keep a straight face too. _See? Even you think it was perfect._

He hung his head, shook it and tried again, “Thing is, kiddo, the whole ‘Jiffy Pop soul’ bit? Gypsies?” He chuckled. “You couldn’t have cheesed that one more if you’d tried. I’ve got a little secret for you about gypsies. They’re known for a coupla things: bad hygiene and holding grudges. That little spell the old man used wasn’t whipped up as a kindness.”

The laugh had been nice, but it was over. Buffy wiped her eyes, growing madder and madder as the little slimebag yammered. _Who the fuck does he think he is?_

“The whole idea is to make you guilt. Why you girls seem immune is beyond me. But Angel…he was living on rats when you offed him ’cause of that little spell. And he was set to be the Powers’ next big hitter.”

The only reason the slimy little bastard got to finish was that he’d piqued Buffy’s curiosity. “Angel? You mean Angelus? He got what he deserved,” she spat. _Righteous indignation, it’s a good act. Up until yesterday, it was the only act._ Now, the guilt the little weasel had sermonized nagged at her. She took a sip of her coffee to cover and asked, “And what do you mean ‘hitter’?”

“Angel was set to be their next champion,” he said. “Had him all lined up. Then Darla—stupid bitch—she had to get nosey and screwed the pooch for us.”

Buffy lost herself staring into her coffee cup, brooding. _Most people have the good sense to back off when I use that glare, but this idiot, he just keeps droning and droning and droning. I wonder if he taught history in a past life._

During the lag, Willow asked, “What was the ‘Jiffy Pop’ thing? What do you mean ‘Jiffy Pop’?” She laughed. “And what is your name?”

“It’s Whistler,” he replied, pausing to grin or whatever. “Don’t miss much, do you, sweetheart? That is unless Lady Hack ‘n’ Slash here gets in your way.” All of the lightness in his tone was lost to his next answer, “Your soul’s as slippery as a greased weasel. Spell’s got a major hitch. You get happy—anything real—and it falls out.”

Buffy looked up. The little slimeball was leering at Willow. Buffy didn’t need to look to know the rest. She could just imagine the expression on the witch’s face.

Whistler seemed delighted again. “Like playin’ with fire, doncha?” he teased, giving Willow a wink. “Gettin’ all snuggly with Blondie.”

Buffy glanced at Willow. _You sure I can’t kill him?_

Somehow picking up on the thought, Willow shook her head. She even found the presence of mind to shut her mouth.

_Shit. He’d be lots less annoying dead._

The silence lingered. It gave Buffy a little, much-needed time to think. She sipped at her coffee. It was getting cold. She pushed it away, propped her head on her hand and stared at the table. _Why’s he not worried about mine? You’d think he’d be a little more stressed. It’s not like I’ve been perfectly harmless. In the grand scheme, I might actually be worse than Will now. Guilt, ‘Jiffy Pop souls’ and million dollar Porsches, those were pretty much the high points._

_The fireball was pretty. Getting out of the car before it exploded wasn’t, but that’s another story. Another perfectly meaningless story._

_No, he said something. We just got so wrapped up in the funny, it whizzed right by. What was it? He was talking about me trying to get rid of my soul. What else was I supposed to do? I had to at least try to put things back like they were. He said ‘wishes’_ _like it might’ve been some private joke._

_That’s it._

Buffy could guess what that meant, but she needed to hear it from Whistler. She glanced at Willow. No change there. Willow was still sulking. _Well, this should improve things._ “What’d you mean before when you said ‘wishes’?” Buffy asked.

Willow confirmed that she was on to something by flinching.

Naturally, being a snide little bastard, Whistler sounded no less delighted when he replied, “Only know what they tell me, kid. _Your_ soul’s permanent. Your little friend—hers is hangin’ by a thread.”

 _I’m gonna kill him, but this first._ Willow looked absolutely shamefaced. _If she could blush, her head would look like it was about to pop right now._ Buffy demanded, “Spill.”

It only took no time at all for Willow to crack. She covered by getting up to grab another cup of coffee. “It was me,” she admitted. “But I didn’t ask for that. I asked for—uh, well…something else. You can guess. Tara twisted it around to hurt you. You know how she was.” When she finally faced the room, Buffy held out her coffee cup and Whistler looked needy. 

Head in hand, Buffy passed her cup off. She wasn’t sure what to think. Her mind churned through the details. _I rescued Willow. Once things cooled off, she was so adamant about getting that necklace back._ _To save her own ass. Breaking it would’ve undone the wish. I would’ve walked right by her. And look at how quickly she disposed of Tara. To hide the evidence, or was it like she said? Either way, it’s still pretty bad._

A fresh cup of coffee was placed right under her nose. Buffy barely registered it.

_But I guess it really doesn’t matter where we started. Like Whistler said, I tried everything I knew to put things back. It only makes sense that she’d protect her own interests. It’s not like she used me. I did that of my own accord. Just because I was missing a few details…it really doesn’t change much._

_This other stuff’s different. We’re making real progress. Or I think we are. And it feels good. Or at least it feels good when it doesn’t feel awful and confusing as hell._

_Fuck, I dunno…I’m not sure how to feel anymore. Like that’s new._

All soft and sheepish, Willow asked, “You’re not mad?”

Buffy replied, “Not mad. No clue why, yet.” Her voice was faint. Its tone hinted at introspectiveness. And no one was more surprised by that than her.

“Yeah, so…this is touching, but on the clock here,” Whistler interjected. “Powers got your number, Blondie. They want you to play champion. Figure you volunteered by gutting their last contender.”

Buffy was still pretty much spun by the first few revelations. The word ‘champion’ nearly made her stammer.  But Whistler didn’t let up. “See, thing is…you gotta knock off the bloodbath. So let me make this simple for ya. If you saw it in ‘Fight Club,’ it’s prob’ly a bad thing. Torture’s not really their style.”

A cackle from the witchy contingent brought Whistler’s anvilicious diatribe to a halt. Willow was barely able to speak through the giggles. “Really? We are talking about—?” She finished her statement by gesturing vaguely at the ceiling.

Buffy didn’t even bother to look at the sleazy demon. Her eyes turned down. She took a sip of her coffee.

“But it was okay for the Catholic Church?” Willow snarked. “Remember that little party they threw called the Spanish Inquisition? Or, _hey_ …here’s one that hits close to home, how about the Salem Witch Trials?”

A faint grin warmed her face, but Buffy really wasn’t interested in their feud. _Me, a champion for good? Whistler’s right, they sound totally desperate._

Willow was still barely containing her mirth. “Torture not really their style?” she said. “Want me to go on? I think their followers wrote the book on abhorrent behavior.”

“Okay…you got me there, Red. Again, just the messenger,” Whistler said. “I just know that humans—regardless of how screwed up—they tend to change. It’s part of the condition. Killing ’em is prob’ly bad, whatever your thoughts. So, you might want to figure a better way. Plus, takin’ out the evil-doer? Though I can sorta see why you girls might wanna take a page from a homoerotic vampire romance, I think you got more class than that.” 

 _Okay, I’ll bite. If for nothing else ’cept the funny._ Clearing her throat to draw their attention, Buffy redirected, “Go back to this ‘champion’ thing. They want me to play hero? Really?”

“You heard it, Blondie. I’ll prob’ly get fired for sayin’ this, but I think they’re nuts,” Whistler replied. His tone turned thoughtful. “Guess it’s that you’ve been doing the right thing, the wrong way, for all the wrong reasons for so long. They figure if they can get your motives straightened out, you’ll be one hell of an ally.”

Buffy asked, “What do—?”

Cutting her off, Whistler replied, “Same thing you been doing, cupcake. Keep the slayer alive. That’s your first job.”

Buffy faced the little slimebag. “Been keeping her alive,” she said, putting her hand up as if to say, ‘duh.’

He shrugged. “Like I said. But you need to cut the shit and get over to the house of tweed, pronto. Something’s going down tonight. Something big. Who knows, you do good, the Powers might even perma-soul your little girlfriend. Not a bad plan from where I sit.” He got up and made a break for the door. “It’s been a blast, ladies. Don’t call me.”

“Girlfriend?” Buffy mumbled. _What business is that of his? Irritating little prick!_ She considered for a moment or two whether beheading the little sleazebag would work. When the debate ended, he was long gone. _Girlfriend?_

_Guess it’s totally fair, what, with the smoochies and umm…but I—_

_Whatever. He’s right. ‘Girlfriend’ it is._


	13. Saving Faith

Willow chanced a peek. The news wasn’t very reassuring. Buffy looked grumpy. It was probably just concentration—she was driving after all—but Willow couldn’t be sure. _Maybe I should wait._ The lipstick case pressed into her palm as she clutched it tight, anxiously rubbing its beveled upper edge with her thumb. _I know she told me she wasn’t mad, but she seems mad._

 _She said she didn’t know why. Maybe she’s figured it out._

 _She should be mad._

 _I’d be mad._

Willow was about to chicken out when that option left the table. Buffy had just taken a sip from her travel mug and given Willow a sidelong glance. “What’s that?” she asked.

Opening her hand was the only thing Willow could think to do. She held the lipstick case out for Buffy to take. It was hers after all, even if she didn’t know it yet.

Buffy glanced at it. “Trying to tell me something?”

Willow couldn’t believe her ears. Buffy was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. “No,” Willow replied. The shock came through in her voice. She took another breath. It was hopeless. She wasn’t going to calm down any time soon, not without a chemical intervention or a sharp blow to the head. “It’s not what you think,” she said. “Just put it in your pocket and let me explain.” _Oh-boy. Now I get to figure out how to explain. What do I actually tell her?_

The car slowed. They were entering the city limits. _Well, I’ve got about ten minutes to figure something out._

 _How about the truth?_

 _‘Buffy, I made this really, really horrible piece of lingerie. Think ‘The Bride’ meets Sir Isaac Newton’s secret wet dream.’_ The references were cryptic, but accurate. She recalled how the gold lining inside the thong had shimmered and swirled with her touch. What she’d done wasn’t simply alchemy; she’d created a rudimentary life form that conformed and clung aggressively to whatever it touched. _’Kay, so…that’s a little creepy. Where was I? Oh. Uh. The truth._ _‘Because I wasn’t just the world’s first wiccan mad scientist, but also a guilt ridden wuss with a massive inferiority complex, I was stupid enough to put it on. How’s a little revenge sound? I think I deserve it.’_

 _Uh, yeah, that’d work._

 _How ’bout this instead?_ “Open the tube and turn it clockwise for pleasure, counter-clockwise for pain. I’ll let you decide what I deserve.” _That’s as simple as it gets._ Willow’s nerves were shot, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away, so she ended up watching the entire process, almost able to hear Buffy’s thoughts. ‘Do I really wanna know?’ dwindled, giving way to, ‘Probably not.’

 _Putting it off works too. I’m just glad I don’t have to—that vampires don’t have the same physical needs. That was the worst. Tara was forced to deal by her own body. After the first time, she learned to grovel._

 _Why’d I have to put the stupid thing on? It was dumb. I really didn’t take the time to think it through. Time wasn’t even something I had. It was an impulse. My only thought was that feeling nothing would be nice._

Buffy pocketed the lipstick case. “Drink your breakfast. It’s getting cold.” Her tone of voice was ridiculously dry. So dry that Willow couldn’t help but grin. Buffy took a pair of wire-framed sunglasses down from the visor and put them on before having another sip from her mug.

 _Now I’m locked in. I’ll grovel too, if that’s what it takes. She deserves a good grovel after_   
_the mess I’ve made._

The electrical pulses that were supposed to make everything numb were doing their job a little too well. Not being able to feel that part of her body was more than slightly disconcerting. To make matters worse, her legs were distant and tingly, like they were asleep. That worried her. Vampires shouldn’t have circulation problems, what with the obvious lack thereof. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand, let alone walk.

Willow was able to find the pressure point behind her left knee. That was a good sign. It ached when she bore down and that was even better. A chilly sensation in her calf should’ve followed as she recalled, but nothing changed. It made sense that that was probably blood flow related too, so she gave up and took a drink from her travel mug like a good girl.

 _The weird thing is that she seems so normal. I mean, quiet, yeah…but I expected her to completely ignore me. I’m not getting the silent treatment like I thought. She really is just that preoccupied._

Staring was still rude, regardless how strangely Buffy was behaving. Willow faced forward, deciding to take a stab at making small talk, “Why the sunglasses?” She couldn’t see what difference the violet lenses might make. _Maybe she just likes for the world to look like a big grape?_

“It’s a thing with me. I can’t drink and not get a little bit vampy,” Buffy replied. Sliding the glasses down her nose to reveal her amber eyes, she glanced at Willow.

“Are mine?” Willow asked. It hadn’t even occurred to her that anything might’ve changed. But she could certainly see how hiding their true nature might be a good idea.

They coasted to a stop at a red light. Buffy signaled right and made the turn before she glanced and confirmed, “Yup. And you got a bit of the bumpy brow. You can control that. You just have to concentrate. But the eyes are tougher. I never got it.”

Once the car was chugging happily along in second gear, Buffy put her hand in her pocket. Willow got really nervous. Relief came in the form of Buffy pulling out a cigarette. _I never thought I’d be happy to see one of those nasty things. I need to get over the wig already. She isn’t mad. She’s just worried about, umm…_

 _Doing her job? Now that’s kinda funny._

Buffy lit up and took a deep drag, needlessly flicking the tiny trace of ash out the window. She opened the console and groped through it without taking her eyes off the road. The object she pulled out was a pair of sunglasses nearly identical to the ones she had on.

Willow accepted them from Buffy’s outstretched hand, grinning as she put them on. “Spares?” she asked. Her view of the world didn’t really change much. Things were just a bit darker.

“Part of the trick is learning to hide. Looking human, no matter what,” Buffy remarked as she maneuvered the car around a left-hand turn.

Willow replied through a giggle, “So, now you’re giving me lessons in subtle. Too funny.” 

Buffy cast a mischievous glance Willow’s way. “We’re on a mission from God to save Faith,” she snarked. “We’ve got a half tank of gas, a pack and a half of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.”

Willow groaned, slouched down in her seat and covered her face with both hands, feeling like a complete idiot. _Yeah. She’s fine. I’m still the one with the issues. I should seriously take a clue. This is getting too predictable. It’s tedious._

 _Note to self: it really is all in your head._

“What’s up with all the smoke?”

Buffy’s question went right over Willow’s head. Before she registered that something was wrong, the car began to slide.

  


* * *

  


Distant sirens rang through the murky air, sounding over the din of the crowd. In the few moments Amy had been outside, the apartment building had gone up like a Roman candle, turning night into day. Flames rolled out of shattered windows, licking at soot-stained stucco walls.

Her head throbbed. She put her fingertips to her temples and bore down, massaging in a circular fashion. The pain eased, but any relief was short-lived. _Faith’s gone._ The thought carved a hollow spot inside her. She ached with the loss. Her hands began to shake. She dropped them to her sides. Pain jabbed at her shoulder. It was tender from the wrenching it’d received when, moments before, Faith’s hand had been ripped from her own. _She’s gone._ Staring blankly at the ashy ground, Amy absently rubbed her tender right palm.

 _All I know is which way. That’s it. I have to make myself move. Follow her no matter the cost._  

Her burning eyes darted over the crowd. There were too many people. Surely some of them were just nosey neighbors. That hardly mattered. None of them were Giles or Jonathan. _Did they even get out? Should I go back in to find them?_ It didn’t take any scrutiny for her to see the truth. _No, that’d be suicide._ The heat from the burning building was so intense and air so noxiously thick with smoke that people were migrating toward the street.Amy let the crowd carry her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She was alone. _This can’t be happening. I can’t let it. Not and do nothing. There has to be something. Is there any wood?_ She looked around, but nothing jumped out. _I could—_

 _Well, I can’t just stand here._

As Amy turned in the direction Faith had been taken, knowing she was most likely about to charge headlong to her death, a roar resonated through the air. It was loud. Louder than the panicked people. Louder than the crackle of the fire. Amy spun around to face the source of the sound. The thing was barreling down on top of her. Bright lights made her blink.

 _Red._

Her brain hung, useless.

 _Red car._

Squealing tires joined the uproar. Then a name filtered through the muck.

 _Buffy._

The little blonde vampire was already out of the car. She spotted Amy and yelled, “Where?”

Stunned, Amy pointed the only way she knew. She blinked and Buffy was gone. _Did I just imagine her?_

 _No. The car’s still there. Was it even stopped when she got out? I don’t know. It’s still running and…_

Her attention came to rest on the passenger side. _There’s someone else still inside. Is that Willow?_ Amy inched up to the passenger door. What she saw didn’t help one bit. Though Willow didn’t turn, it was clear that she wasn’t doing well. The door swung open. Amy stepped back. She didn’t want that kind of attention, so she just kept backing away. _But—_

 _Oh god!_

 _No!_

A car alarm blared somewhere off to Amy’s right. As she froze and turned to look, Willow said, “Take my hand.”

 _I’m gonna die!_

Amy tried to turn and run, but her body wouldn’t listen. She faced Willow. It was the strangest thing. Though she’d matured, this was the same person Amy remembered from school. She no longer looked like she belonged in a Tim Burton film. She’d gotten out of the car, but the way she leaned against it with one arm on the roof, like she needed it for support, suggested that something was wrong.

 _Why am I freaking out?_

Willow extended her hand. She spoke very slowly and plainly this time. “Amy, take my hand. I need your help.”

It almost registered.

The message finally hit home when Willow extended her hand to the limit of her reach. It scared the hell out of Amy, but she did what was asked. Willow’s hand was cold, dry and smooth. It was plain that there was nothing human about her. _Willow hasn’t looked this way in years. You’d think that’d be good. It’s **really** not. She’s become a real monster._

“What’s wrong?” Amy asked. _And what the hell am I doing?_

“There isn’t time to explain,” Willow replied. “I know that you know exactly where they went. Please, take me to them.” Her tone left no question that the request, in spite of the ‘please,’ wasn’t a request at all.

Though Amy was barely able to function, she did exactly what was asked. She held Willow around the waist and turned her body to lead, pushing past the other tenants and onlookers. People stepped aside as they tore their attention from the spectacle long enough to notice. One woman even said, “Excuse me.”

At first Willow was really clumsy. She took short, unsteady steps, dragging her feet and leaning heavily on Amy’s shoulders. The concern Amy felt puzzled her. She wasn’t sure why she’d care if Willow had been injured, but it certainly seemed that way. It was strange though. Willow improved as they went, like the problem was working itself out with the movement.

When they rounded the high, block, garden wall, turning right down the cross street, Buffy came into view. She was between two parked cars just ahead. They were both damaged and their alarms were going off, creating sort of a weird honking harmony.

There were two other vampires that Amy didn’t recognize and Faith. Buffy was fighting the larger of the two, a Native American woman. The woman was almost freakishly slender and it was scary how tall she was. _She must have sixteen inches on Buffy._ They moved so fast it was hard to tell, but it seemed like Buffy was hurt. She was favoring her right side. _Wow! Faith’s right. That’s just insane._

The second vampire looked more like a little girl. She was extremely petite, probably smaller than Buffy, which was just too weird. The little vamp had Faith in a choke hold. Faith was trying to struggle, but fighting wasn’t going well for her. Her face was red from exertion and probably oxygen deprivation.

Willow stopped, causing Amy to jerk to a halt.

Amy spun around and snapped, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? We have to help them!”

Willow remained stony faced. Her gaze was almost painful. Amy wanted to shy away, but her grip was like a vice. She couldn’t break free.

“Can you summon water from the things around you?” Willow asked.

Amy struggled with the words, trying to make sense of them. Uncertain how to answer, she finally just shook her head. It was safer to say she couldn’t.

“This may feel funny, but just relax and focus on the little one,” Willow said.

Amy gaped at the other witch. _What the—?_

 _Why?_

She managed a feeble nod, when Willow prompted, “Okay?”

Amy turned around and faced the tiny one. She was hurting Faith. It wasn’t hard to wish bad things on bad people. She focused her resentment, wishing that the little bitch would just drop dead. It felt like ages went by, but the funny feeling Willow mentioned never came.

The fight was too intense to resist. She soon found her attention split. As she tried to make sense of the blur, she wanted to think that it was kind of amazing. Tiny little Buffy was holding her own against that monster. _Yeah, nice thought, but underestimating Buffy’s something that usually only happens once._ The two vamps weaved between the cars, taking swipes at one another. Both cars were a mass of dents and broken glass.

Buffy was thrown onto the hood of the first car. It was one of the few things about the fight that was actually clear. She rolled away just in time. Tall, dark and surly missed by a margin, not nearly a mile, caving the car’s hood in with the scythe. 

The whole thing looked to Amy like a demolition contest. _What the hell is Willow doing? Why aren’t we helping? There’s fire right behind them. We could just—_

Amy started to turn when she saw it. She’d been intent on asking Willow exactly when she planned to start, but the fight that had been impossible to watch was slowing down, or the important half of it was. Noodle Girl was moving at a much more human pace. Buffy kicked her in the gut and water sprayed through air. It barely fazed the lanky vamp. She immediately countered. Buffy turned the sloppy blow away with her right forearm. Sloppy or not, getting hit by an axe still looked painful.

The little one was growing weaker too. Faith jabbed with her right elbow. The blow connected. Amy smiled when the little vamp winced. _No idea what she’s doing, but whatever it is, it’s working._

  


* * *

  


The gorilla Buffy was fighting took another potshot at her with the scythe. Without room or time to duck or dodge she blocked the blow. Liquid spattered her face and hand. _’Kay, so…someone care to clue me in?_ Enough lag existed between swipes for Buffy to catch a glimpse of her attacker’s angular face. It was coated in beads of moisture and her thick, black hair stuck to her face in clumps. _Since when do vamp’s sweat?_

Sirens were closing in. The shrill sound was so loud it overwhelmed the racket of the car alarms. Help was nearly there…for everyone else.

The back of Buffy’s jacket was getting uncomfortably hot. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Her opponent was herding her. She was within ten feet of the blazing building. _Screw it!_ Pain shot through her side as she rushed the lanky vamp. Another blow had connected. She ignored it and dove for the car, rolling across its hood. She landed in the street and sprinted straight for Faith. _Not much I can do with Morticia—bitch has like a foot of reach on me—but I think I can take down little Wednesday before she bolts, free up Faith and gain some ground._

The smaller vamp’s attempted sidestep didn’t go well. With Faith thrashing around and Buffy seizing her upper arm, she spun and staggered. Keeping hold of her quarry cost her her footing. She toppled over backwards, taking Faith with her. Buffy went down too. Instead of landing on soft, cushiony parts, she fell hard on her knees. It hurt, but what didn’t? _With any luck, when Morticia circles in behind me, she’ll get close. Not the most likely scenario, but a girl can dream._

The pair lay just to the right of Buffy. She snatched the forearm the girl had over Faith’s throat. Faith took the opening. Her head smashed into her captor’s face with a sickening crunch. Buffy grabbed Faith by the shirt and threw her. Headlights fell on Faith as she tumbled up the street. The oncoming car probably should’ve bothered Buffy. She and the two other vamps were in full monster drag, brawling in the street. It didn’t. She was too intent on her goal.

Tears welled up in the little vamp’s eyes. Her face was dripping with sweat and coated in blood. Faith had smashed her nose. Wednesday lashed out. Buffy repelled the feeble punch with ease. Her counter punch landed hard. As Wednesday’s head twisted under the blow, the alarms and sirens died. It was like someone had hit the off switch. The only sounds remaining were the crackling fire, the idling car and human noises, like shouts and anxious chatter. The effect was sobering. _This is gonna end badly if I don’t—_

As Buffy sprang to her feet, a boot connected with her ribs. She wheezed and went flailing across the pavement. Her head and shoulder struck the ground. She bounced. Something solid brought her to an abrupt halt. A car…or that’s what the crumpling sound told her. Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. She mopped it away and groaned. _Fuck!_

Big and ugly was plodding across the street, headed right for her. _Bitch just doesn’t know when to quit._

 _I may have to teach her._ Buffy didn’t move. _Just a little closer. C’mon, I know you got it in ya._ She peered blearily up at the gangly vamp, not even trying to focus. It would’ve ruined the act.

Predictably, Lorraine Running Water reached down like a total moron. _I’m glad this is all in my head ’cause no one would get that._ Buffy kicked. Her opponent’s knee folded backward. Buffy rolled out of the way as the big vamp fell against the car. _Whatever. It fits._ _There just aren’t enough Native American pop culture icons. It’s a total shame._

Pain shot through her side when she leapt to her feet. She damn near hit the ground again. It took a moment for the trembling to stop. She clutched her ribs. Talking was pretty pointless, not that she thought she could, but a speech came to mind. _Look, Lorraine, I think you and me…we’ve just about beaten the snot out of each other. How ’bout you give me the scythe so we can both go home?_ Lorraine-Morticia-whoever wouldn’t have listened anyway. She spun around, using all of her weight to drive the scythe. Buffy threw her arm out. She blocked the blow, but only just. It hurt like son of a bitch. _So, I’ll take that as a ‘no.’_

Buffy was preparing to lunge while her opponent poised to counter. None of that happened. A flash of light erupted behind her. Instinct took over. She threw herself headfirst across the hood of the car. Her hands touched ground first. Pushing off, she flipped and landed with her back to the action. Enough stuff hurt that it took time for her to turn around. It was over by then. The car hood she’d just tumbled across was littered with burning embers. But then there were fiery pieces of rubble pretty much everywhere. _Did the building explode?_

Buffy scanned the street. The first thing that caught her eye was a large scorch mark on the asphalt. It was pretty close to where she’d put little Wednesday down. _Chances are Thumbelina’s blowing in the wind. Maybe the other one got toasted too. But where’s the scythe?_ She looked toward the frontage street. Standing with their hands joined were Willow, Faith and Amy. They were backlit by her car. Buffy couldn’t see their faces, but she didn’t need to. Behind them, on the main street, the lights of emergency vehicles flashed under a halo of mist and smoke. Men shouted and bustled around. The civil servants were doing their job. _It’s gotta be here somewhere._

Down near the other end of the darkened side street Buffy caught sight of her prey. The scythe dangled at the gangly vamp’s side, glinting as she ran. _Funny, part of me wants her to get away. But I can’t let her do it. Not with that._ She took off in pursuit, sticking to the grass strip between the fence and the row of parked cars. _She’s the only one so far with half a clue or any style._

The fleeing vamp was limping badly, but surprisingly spry. _I think I’d be hauling ass too if it started raining fire. Actually, I **did** haul ass. That’s just a little too apocalypsey for my taste. Not to mention just plain bad for the complexion._

Buffy saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A hunk of smoldering rubble had broken away from the building. She ducked behind a car. As the mass picked up speed, streaking down the center of alley, it folded in on itself, growing denser and flamier as it went. Bits and chunks of unburnable stuff, like plaster and concrete, pelted the road. At the end of its flight the fireball nearly eclipsed the lanky vamp. She was stuck center mass. Fragments of flaming debris rained over the alley. Soot clouded the air.

When it cleared enough to see, there was nothing left of the wicked Queen or her iron shoes.

 _Now who’s the fairest of them all?_

  


* * *

  


 _That might’ve been one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen._ The broad grin on Faith’s face faded. Reality killed it. _But I still don’t get why I’m standing here holding hands with psycho witch like we’re best buds._

The headlamps went out and the car shut off as Buffy ran into the distance. The car door shut. It was only Jonathan.

Faith pulled and twisted, trying to free her hand. When she took a step forward, Willow said, “Don’t even think about it. You have a choice. You can either stand here and wait with the rest of us…” Faith turned on the black-eyed witch “…or you can lie on the ground unconscious.” Though Faith resisted, Willow raised both of their hands to point at the area just ahead of her feet. “It makes no difference to me which you choose, but I’m not gonna let you charge into another ambush.”

Outraged, Faith cast a glance at Amy. She had that look on her face—that look that said Faith was screwed. _She agrees with that bitch!_ “I can’t believe this shit!” Faith spat.

As she turned away, shaking her head in disgust, Amy countered, “Believe it. Willow’s right. We need to stay put.”

 _Jesus! Not you too! So what is it? You guys do a couple of magic tricks together and suddenly you’re best pals?_

Faith looked them both up and down. That was exactly it, or something like it. _Great! Now I get to stand around with my thumb up my ass. Just fuckin’ great!_

Feeling like a complete waste wasn’t something that came easy to Faith. And tonight was a little worse than usual. She’d been manhandled by a twelve-year-old and cast aside like a broken toy. The only way she kept from screaming was by grinding her teeth. She stared down the block. Buffy was on to something. She went left, disappearing around the corner. Faith sighed. _They’re right. If there are more of those things, what would I do? Get my ass handed to me again. That’s about all I’m good for._ She sneered with disgust. _Damseling, now there’s something I never thought—_

“Blasted duffer,” Giles grumped from somewhere behind them. Faith turned to see him rounding the back of the car, ranting under his breath, “Give people an ounce of authority and they behave like spoiled children.”

 _Must be catching._

“What’s up, Giles?” Faith asked through a smirk.

Giles stopped next to Jonathan by the fender of the car. “What?” he mumbled. Giles was just too ticked to function. Faith held back a snicker. The fact that the general level of bullshit was so deep that even Giles had gotten some on him was just too funny.

“Oh, right,” Giles stammered. He tugged at his coat as if to shake off the irritation. “The authorities retained me for questioning. They believed I might have something to do with this tragedy. The nerve. Like I would consider placing all of these innocent people in peril. Not to mention destroying my own home.” He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was tediously ‘devil’s advocate,’ but Faith couldn’t help pointing out, “You did have something to do with it.”

Giles looked outraged. Hastily returning his glasses to their proper place, he exclaimed, “How dare you say such a thing?”

Willow let go of Faith’s hand. Thankfully, she wasn’t the least bit concerned with their spat. She was the only one. The usual suspects were all too interested. Too much so to notice the obvious. Where they were standing was quickly becoming a river because of the fire hoses. Willow was the only one with the good sense to move. She sidestepped away from Faith to the rise in the center of the street without taking her eyes off the spot where Buffy had disappeared.

Faith rubbed her hand. She was tempted to turn around and join Willow in keeping watch. Instead, she replied, “Well, it might not be the smartest thing to point out—you were helping me after all—but the way I see it, the fire was caused by someone tossing Molotov cocktails through your window, so…” She waited, half-expecting another outburst.

“As if,” Giles grumbled. It wasn’t looking good, but as he mulled things over, his expression lost its edge. After a time, he said, “Of course. Yes, you’re right. It was merely the approach the officer took. He was somewhat less affable than I’ve come to expect.”

‘Affable’ must’ve meant ‘polite,’ or so Faith guessed from its context. “Yeah, sounds like the cops,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at Willow. _It’s been long enough. We should go check. Not that I’m really into helping B., but she did help me. Sort of. Her version of ‘helping’ was a lot like being treated like a lawn dart. But whatever, it comes around._

Giles eyed Willow too before he remarked, “Right, so…we should carry on. Perhaps find some lodging?”

Faith replied, “I think they’re waiting on B.” She crossed her arms and shot a look at the two witches. “I’m done waiting. I vote we go find her.”

Willow returned the glance. Her eyes were back to normal. She said, “Give her another minute.” Her tone was neutral. The reply came off more like a suggestion.

It actually set Faith a little more at ease. Taking care not to dent it, she half-leaned and half-sat on the rubber nose of the Trans Am. Once she was perched with her ankles casually crossed, she looked from one member of their ragged little band to the next. What she saw was tired and grubby. It wasn’t that late, but the fire and fight had really left a mark.

Jonathan mustered his courage and walked over to Willow, holding out the car keys. She turned to face him and actually smiled. It wasn’t one of those ‘you’d be tasty on toast’ sort of smiles either. “Keep them for now. I can’t drive a manual,” she said in a voice light with laughter.

When Jonathan turned away, he was grinning. He pocketed the keys and shrunk back to Giles’ side.

 _Okay, so…has everyone lost their goddamned minds? Even me? I mean yeah, it all seems good, but these dopes act like they’ve never seen a rope before._ Faith glanced at her Watcher. He was staring at the smoldering rubble. It was pretty easy to guess what was going through his head. _Giles has. He has to have. He’s older than dirt._ She was kind of amazed he wasn’t asking his usual round of twenty-thousand questions. _I guess it’s pretty obvious what happened._ _All he really needs to know is: big fight, everyone’s safe. Well, everyone except B., but should we really stress over her?_

 _Eh, hell…I dunno, we’ve been fighting so damned long. If this is the real deal, they’re both gonna have to do some serious showin’ for me to buy in._

Willow directed her attention to Giles. “Where’s your car?”

He replied, “Just ahead on the left.”

“You have your keys?” she asked. When Giles nodded, she added, “I’d like to keep Faith with me if you don’t mind.” He gave another nod. “Follow us. I think I can find her. Faith’s right, we should get going.”

 _Huh. She asked. He agreed. That was almost civil. Funny, no one asked me._

 _Oh well. I guess I’ll take it. Doing something beats doing nothin’ any day._


	14. The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sensitive readers be aware that Vi’s scene is quite grim.

_I’m doomed._

Jonathan folded the seat forward to allow Faith and Amy to climb in. Once they were situated, he returned the seat to its upright position, pulled the keys from his pocket and got in the driver’s seat. Grimly, he prepared. This was like facing a firing squad. Right next to him sat heaps of trouble and in his hand rested the key to his doom. _The only manual transmission car I’ve ever driven is my mom’s Civic. And this really isn’t that._

He wished he had another reason to stall, but there was nothing left. He could fiddle with the mirrors some more. Maybe adjust his seat again. Instead, he slid the key into the ignition. Just depressing the clutch was a chore. He wanted to use both feet, but managed with only one, though he had to use the steering wheel for leverage. For all its crankiness, the instrument of his doom was all too eager to start when he turned the key.

It sat purring like some great, sleepy beast, waiting for him to make a wrong move. _Okay, so…breathe. Now give it a little gas and slip the clutch out._

All the car did was rumble. It was a cool sounding rumble, but just a rumble.

_Shit! Let’s all sing the Doom Song now._

_Or I could put the stupid car in gear and try again. I’m such an idiot._

When Jonathan did, the car lurched against the parking brake, moved about a foot and stalled. It amounted to a great, roaring, jerky nothing.

He glanced at his less-than-friendly passenger. Willow’s face was twisted with what could only be pain. _I’m finished. She’s gonna turn me into a tadpole. Then she’ll squish me ’cause of the threat my future frogness poses._

She took a deep breath. It was something he’d never seen a vampire do. As he wondered what effect breathing might have on the non-oxygen-dependent, she regained her composure. “Please, calm down,” she said. “I’m not gonna bite. You moved the car before. I heard you do it. You were really good. Just do that again. Don’t worry about me.”

It left Jonathan bewildered that her version of ‘less than friendly’ was actually kinder than the people he called ‘friends.’ Faith had laughed when he stalled the car, adding insult to injury, while Willow sounded as though she actually had confidence in him. The heat in his face diffused, replaced by a warm grin.

_Why’s she being so nice?_

Jonathan didn’t give himself time to consider. Giles was already in his car. It sat idling, waiting on them. Jonathan started the engine and tried again. His launch wasn’t perfect, but it was better. That didn’t take much. The bar just wasn’t that high. All he had to do was keep the car running. Even that wasn’t easy. The difference between this thing and his mom’s Honda was like the ancient IBM Selectric Giles had compared to his modern laptop keyboard. Everything about the car was so stiff and mechanical, it was a workout to drive.

As they motored past Giles, Willow said, “See, I knew you could do it. Now, make a left. Take it real slow, okay?”

Jonathan nodded. His attention was split so many ways, it was little more than an aloof gesture. He turned the corner as he listened to the girls whisper in the backseat. It was pretty obvious how Faith felt. That was never a mystery. She just kinda put it out there. But he was really curious what Amy thought. All he caught were snippets of the conversation. Though, he distinctly heard the word ‘gold.’ That was strange. He puzzled over how that could possibly fit.

“That’s not true. Not in the strictest sense,” Willow interjected seemingly out of the blue.

Faith and Amy stopped talking.

Jonathan snickered.

Amy mumbled, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“I’m a vampire,” Willow replied. It was a matter-of-fact reminder, not a threat. Something unseen caught her interest and she said, “Go right,” pointing at the upcoming intersection. Once the turn was made, she continued, “A skillful witch can mask her aura. Look now.”

“Huh. It’s blue,” Amy informed the car, like that meant something.

_Dammit. I know these. I could just never see them, so…_

Faith said, “Pointing out you can lie to us isn’t exactly smart, Red.” _Typical Faith: all the tact of an eight-pound sledge and half the finesse._

Willow cast her attention over her left shoulder to Faith. The challenge was obvious. Yet her demeanor remained friendly. “No, but it’s honest,” she replied. When Faith failed to deliver a biting retort, Willow faced forward. A few moments later something caught her attention. “Stop,” she said, turning to look out the passenger window.

As they came to a stop, Jonathan caught sight of Buffy. She emerged from between two houses. Her posture was stooped, but she quickly straightened up when she saw them. He put the parking brake on and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Willow rolled down her window as he opened his door. Leaning into the car, Buffy said, “If it’s cool, I think I’m gonna ride with Giles.” Jonathan froze. He couldn’t believe his ears. It must’ve shown because Buffy offered, “Looks like you’ve got this under control.”

After grappling with what she said for a second or two, Jonathan arrived at the only reasonable explanation. _Wow! She must really be hurt. That’s all it could be. She sounds okay, but—_

Jonathan glanced in the driver’s side mirror and very nearly laughed. _Oh, he’s gonna be thrilled. I wish I could eavesdrop. That’d just be too funny._ His interest returned to their two uneasy allies. He couldn’t see Willow’s face, but it was plain that she was worried.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a few hours,” Buffy replied to the unasked question. Jonathan wouldn’t have believed it he if hadn’t heard it himself. Her tone was actually consoling. He’d heard her be a lot of things over the years, but ‘reassuring’ wasn’t on the list. ‘Terrifying’ was pretty typical. That did more than just about anything else could’ve to set him at ease. _I was right._

“What happened?” Willow asked.

Buffy hung her head, peering at her hands as she replied, “There were two more. They nabbed the scythe. I never had a chance.”

_Oh jeez. I didn’t even think of that. Faith had the scythe. I wondered what Buffy was up to. That’s really bad, right?_

Taking Buffy’s hand, Willow whispered, “It’s okay. We’ll deal.”

The car went silent. Jonathan cast a sidelong glance at the passenger side, averting his eyes when he realized the two women were kissing. _Uh, umm…now what?_

_Uh…_

Torn between trying to shrink into the background and wanting to watch, he stared at the center of the steering wheel. He had no idea why Buffy had chosen this car, but the symbolism was pretty perfect. _I just wish they didn’t make me so nervous._

Curiosity won out, but he didn’t dare stare. Instead, he played with the rearview. _I wonder if they’re really in love. Wouldn’t that be weird?_

_For these two, it’d be more like a miracle._

When he saw the empty seat, it struck him exactly how foolish he was being. _They’re vampires, you doofus._

Jonathan quickly repositioned the mirror and dropped his hand in his lap as Buffy spoke. “We’re headed to the Hampton, just off the interstate, ’kay?”

He turned to reply. Both vamps were grinning at him. It was all he could do to nod.

  


* * *

  


Buffy approached the car. When she tapped on the glass, Giles rolled it down. “Mind if I catch a ride with you?” she asked.

Mildly taken aback, Giles replied, “No, not at all,” mostly because it was the courteous thing to say. He found the notion of spending time with her intriguing, mind numbing and horrifying, all in equal measures. _I doubt it will be long. That’s perhaps the only saving grace to this arrangement. We stand little chance of being much more than passing allies._  

Once she’d rounded the car and was seated with her safety belt secured, he resumed pursuit of the red Trans Am. At least with Jonathan driving, this was possible.

Mucking with the levers, Buffy found the correct one to recline her seat. Giles wasn’t thrilled, but he held his peace.

They travelled together in silence for a time. It seemed the others were faring well. He watched Amy gesture animatedly in the backseat of the lead car.

Jonathan appeared to have a destination in mind. They’d left the residential neighborhoods and were proceeding toward the city limits. Giles presumed from her demeanor that Buffy had been injured. Nonetheless he was interested to know what she had planned. Careful to keep his tone moderate, he asked, “Would you mind my asking where we’re going?”

She turned her head to face him and said, “The Hampton.” The ruse was past. Pain was apparent in her voice. She had indeed been badly injured.

“Ah, very good,” he replied.

“Hold up before you get carried away,” Buffy said. Pausing, she groaned and flattened her body against the seat. It took her several moments to settle in. Finally, she explained, “I have a room there. That’s why I’m going. It’s an option, but you need to understand.”

“What could there possibly be to understand? We are in need of lodging and we’re going to a hotel. The matter seems fairly straightforward to me,” he responded, doing everything within his power to wring the amusement from his tone. _I certainly don’t want it to seem that I am making light of her condition. It’s quite obvious that she was wounded assisting us. I should ask, but I truly don’t believe there’s anything we could do for her. She should heal quite quickly without our meddling._

“Not so much,” Buffy muttered. Giles was wondering exactly what sort of answer that might have been when she picked up her thought. “You might’ve noticed that I don’t do failure well. I’ll pretty much do whatever it takes to get the job done.” Her chest gurgled as she took another feeble breath in order to continue.

_Indeed. I might’ve noticed that. In past she was willing to sacrifice anything in order to accomplish her objective. It’s virtually impossible to vanquish such a foe._

“Job One right now is keeping Faith alive,” she stated plainly.

“Why?” Giles interjected. “That seems a paradoxical goal for you.” Glancing at his passenger, he cursed himself for being so blunt. Her expression had darkened. _Good show. To say that lacked diplomacy is a woeful understatement. Actually, that was quite like something Faith might say. I’m not sure what got into me._

Though it was still weak, Buffy’s tone held an edge. “I don’t know if you’ve got this figured or not. You’d have to be pretty dense not to. I never took you for dense, Rupert, but I’ve been wrong before.”

Giles had plenty of opportunity to weigh in. He could’ve easily spoken in his own defense. Instead, he allowed her the breath and the barb, feeling he’d quite earned it.

“I could’ve eliminated your pathetic little band of misfits years ago,” she said.

It was a matter-of-fact statement that Giles very much wanted to argue. He couldn’t. _In point of fact, she has passed up many opportunities to end each of our lives. I often wondered what advantage she might’ve seen in allowing us to live. It’s certainly not typical of her kind._

As they left town, the red car picked up speed. Giles shifted down and pressed the accelerator in an effort to keep pace. “Yes, I’ve been curious about that for a great many years,” he remarked as he found the next gear. The lead car slowed, allowing them to keep pace.

“It’s pretty simple,” she replied. “The devil you know.” She fell silent, stopping to massage her ribs. The effort made her grimace. “But that’s not what this is about. We don’t have long, so here’s the bottom line, Giles. If you stay at some hotel, anyone can walk in your door at any time. Each night’s a—” She fell victim to a coughing fit.

The sound alarmed him. Giles cast a concerned glance at his passenger. She found purchase, suppressing the cough, and mopped a trickle of blood from her chin. _We’re she human, she wouldn’t last the night._  

Buffy cleared her throat and found her voice, all while wincing. “If you stay with me, I can protect you.” She lingered to take a raspy breath. “Now I know how that sounds.” A wheezing laugh escaped her. It wasn’t the sort sound that made one think happy thoughts, but he believed it was meant in good humor. The laughter choked away. It took her a moment to regain her composure. Giles stole a glance. Despite her condition, she appeared quite cheerful. “This pretty much pegs the cliché meter. The tweed wearing British librarian spends the night in the vamp’s castle. That just never ends well.”

Giles smiled. “Too right,” he replied with a chuckle.

“I need you behind me for this to work. Faith’s not gonna like it,” she concluded.

Though his training told him that, were he to say ‘yes,’ it would be the most foolish decision he had ever made, he couldn’t fault her logic and there was no immediate reason to doubt her integrity. “Allow me to ask you something before I make my decision.” When he offered her a brief moment of his attention, she nodded and he went on. “What do you intend to do about the debacle you’ve created?” _That was too accusatory for my taste. Nevertheless, we haven’t minced words up to this point and I see no reason to start._

“Kill them,” she responded.

The statement, though barely a whisper, was sharp and direct. It concerned Giles. He went on. “And if you were offered an alternative…?”

Buffy turned to peer out her window. They were approaching the hotel. “If it was even close to workable, I’d jump all over it. I just don’t have a choice. That’s the point,” she mumbled.

Though his decision was already made, Giles paused as though considering her response. He waited until they had nearly reached the driveway before rendering his verdict, “Very well. You have my support in this matter. Be assured that I will do everything in my power to find an alternative solution.”

“Thanks,” Buffy whispered.

  


* * *

  


Amy and Faith were chattering quietly in the backseat. Willow supposed it was good that Amy had made some small amount of headway with the slayer, but she wasn’t sure she cared that much. There were other things that mattered more. She stared out her window at the prefab, poured-concrete, characterless monstrosity that passed for a hotel. She wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with any of this. What she really wanted most was to hold Buffy, but at the moment that wasn’t possible.

_Y’know, I get that I’m being kinda silly. I mean, yeah, Buffy was hurt, but it’s not like she’s gonna die. Her injuries aren’t permanent. Actually, what she said about ‘a couple hours’ is probably right, but—_

_I dunno. I guess it’s just—I know how much that has to hurt._

_Well, maybe I don’t. I don’t remember much. I felt a sharp pain, then I felt woozy. A few seconds that seemed like ages later, I felt nothing. But she does and I can’t stand to see her like that._

_No one else seems to care. That just doesn’t seem right. It seems like they should. She was injured trying to help them after all._

They pulled into the hotel drive and parked across from the entrance. “I’ll be back in a few,” Willow said. She opened the door, careful to not let the travel mugs she’d stashed between it and the seat tumble out onto the asphalt. _Really, I think I’m being a little hard on them. Look at what just happened. That was our fault. We caused it._ She sniffed. The blood still smelled good. She felt silly for checking. It hadn’t been an hour since they’d arrived at Giles’ apartment. She’d probably just made her face go all crinkly and ‘grr’ over nothing. She couldn’t tell. Having to check that too made her feel foolish. _The fight itself only lasted about five minutes tops. Maybe. It all happened so quickly it’s hard to say. I’m sure it felt like hours to Buffy._

It took a moment or two for Willow to find her legs again. The process was a cringe-worthy, tummy curdling, nail biting load of prickly pins and needles. A little too soon, but not nearly soon enough, she was shuffling past Giles, half afraid she’d snag a heel and bust her butt in the parking lot. At least that took her mind off of everything else.

As she approached Giles’ car, Buffy tried to get out. All Willow needed was the room key. It seemed like such a trivial thing to bother Buffy with, but it gave Willow an excuse to check up on her. “No, sweetie,” Willow said. “Let me handle it. I just need the key.” _I really don’t get her._

Buffy still looked intent on getting up. She sat cockeyed in the seat with her feet outside the car. “You sure?” she asked, looking up to meet Willow’s eyes.

“Yeah, _yeah_ …I’m pretty sure,” Willow replied. _The rattle in her chest hasn’t gotten any better._ _Actually, it might be worse._

Thankfully, Buffy didn’t argue. She scooted around to sit forward in the car and removed the card from her back pocket. The arduous process involved her turning onto her hip and working to fish it out with an arm that was probably broken.

Willow couldn’t have felt more useless. She wanted desperately to help, but there was nothing she could do, so she busied herself by combining the contents of the two cups. _It doesn’t really matter what I want anyway. She wouldn’t deal well with me fawning over her. Not here. Not now._ Concealing her distress when Buffy handed the card off, Willow said, “Just rest. I’ve got this.” She placed the lid on Buffy’s mug and handed it to her. “Here, this might help.”

Buffy settled back in her seat. There was a quirky little grin on her face. It confused Willow to no end, but she didn’t ask. _How’s she smiling? After all that, you’d think—_

_Y’know what? Never mind. It doesn’t have to make sense._

“I won’t be long,” Willow said as she shut Buffy’s door. _Darn it. I need my purse._ She went back to their car to get it. This trip across the parking lot wasn’t as worrisome as the last. Sensation had returned to her legs. “Giles, could you mind handing me my purse?”

“No, certainly,” Giles replied and leaned in the car. He extracted himself from the window and turned to pass the purse off.

Willow accepted it and said with a smile, “Thanks. This won’t take long.” She hung her purse over her shoulder as she strode toward the entrance. _I’m not sure why she chose to do this now. I guess it’s that it gives them an opportunity to bail. I know that’s not what she wants. She’ll want to keep Faith close. So, I s’pose worst case, we’ll end up staying here._

She was almost to the door when Jonathan called out, “Wait up.”

Surprised to hear his voice, Willow stopped. She glimpsed Faith striding away from the cars with Giles at her side as she turned around. Noting them, but not really concerned or surprised, her attention fixed on Jonathan. He was holding the seat and the seatbelt out the way for Amy. She climbed from the car and moved to join Willow. 

Offering a friendly smile, Amy said, “I think that’s gonna be one of those watcher/slayer kind of talks. We’d just be in the way.” She rolled her eyes. “Mind if we join you?”

Willow replied, “Uh, yeah…sure.” This wasn’t what she expected at all. “Er, umm…I mean, _no_ , I don’t mind.”

Jonathan went ahead of them to get the door. Willow followed him with Amy in tow. Together they passed through into the lobby. The desk clerk looked up. When Willow made for the elevator, he went back to the magazine he was reading. She took a quick detour en route to pitch her mug in a trash can next to the breakfast buffet table. In the process she somehow lost Jonathan. It was kind of funny. She wondered how she could possibly lose track of a noisy, smelly human as she held the button to keep the doors open. When he reappeared, he was pulling a luggage cart. _Huh. More than a little intuitive. Not to mention helpful. But we are in a hotel, presumably going to a room, so I guess it does make sense._

Their willingness to help clarified their stance beyond a doubt. In spite of everything, a warm smile brightened Willow’s face. She retraced her steps to the room with the others keeping pace behind her. _It’s still kind of weird having them with me. Not quite an intrusion, but—_

When she entered the room, the first thing that caught her eye was the roses. A few petals had fallen, but they had opened up and were just lovely. She went to the dresser and leaned in to smell them.

The luggage cart clattered across the threshold. A moment later, Willow felt Jonathan behind her. He whispered, “You really love her, don’t you?” It was a careful sound, like he wanted the question to be private despite Amy’s presence. Amy seemed to respect that. Hangers clattered as she emptied dresses from the closet, paying them no mind.

Willow turned to find him wearing a soft sentimental smile. She returned the gesture. “Yes.” Unsure why she felt so weepy, shut her eyes to stave off tears that seemed determined to come. _Is it really that obvious? How much could he have possibly seen?_ The answer she arrived at was ‘not much.’ They’d brushed shoulders in the hospital. _It must be. Other than tonight that was it._ The pressure behind her eyes was threatening to turn headachy. She took a breath and slowly let it go.

Jonathan was loading some shopping bags onto the cart when Willow opened her eyes. She slipped past Amy, who’d come to collect the remaining packages from around the dresser, crossed the room and took the cooler from the closet. Packing it with the contents of the fridge was a little disconcerting, but no one said anything.

Really, it was pretty much the opposite. Jonathan took the cooler from her when she finished, loaded it on the cart and stacked stuff around it to hide the Red Cross symbols. _I guess he thinks that stealing blood is better than the alternatives. And strangely enough, I’d have to agree with him now._

Willow returned to the dresser to collect her flowers. Though she couldn’t recall either of them having put anything in the dresser, she had to open a few drawers just to be sure. She took one last quick look around the room. Jonathan and Amy were waiting for her in the hallway when she finished. Willow met each of their gazes and said, “Thank you,” as she pulled the door to. _Buffy would probably laugh and say they make good minions. I’m not so sure._  

  


* * *

  


Holding the scythe did nothing to calm Vi’s nerves. It was supposed to be this amazing source of power for the slayer. _We were warned to separate her from it. Not that it mattered. The slayer was a complete joke._ She found it funny that the scythe did absolutely nothing except make her want to run that much faster. The sooner she was rid of the accursed thing, the happier she’d be.

“Four of us in three days,” Rona said. “She’s picking us off like flies.” Her voice trembled with her footfalls and the puff of her breath.  

_The mood must be catching._

_Huh. What’s to catch? We’re fucked._

The sounds of crunching leaves gave their position away. Vi tried to stick to bare ground as she weaved through the trees. It wasn’t easy. There wasn’t much. “Yeah, Shane was our best fighter,” she whispered. “And Heather had some training. Eve and Chloe weren’t all that surprising. Eve being chosen to do more than get coffee was the real shock.” A dry creek bed cut a jagged line through the valley floor. Vi leapt it and scrambled to higher ground where the layer of fallen leaves wasn’t quite so thick. “You ask me, this is pretty much suicide.”

“I doubt we’d make it far,” Rona replied as she kept pace. “That is if we—”

“We could give it a shot,” Vi whispered. “Anything has to be better than waiting for the inevitable.” The words had barely crossed her lips when she heard the leaves rustle over the hill to their right.

Moments later a melodious female voice put an end to any debate, “They’re just over this next rise.”

_That definitely wasn’t an animal._

Vi changed direction midstride and charged up the hill. She was so determined to get away that she ignored one small, yet significant detail. On the other side of the hill fire had ravaged the forest. The few blackened trees that still stood were matted with creeping vines. Heavily eroded ground lush with dense, tangled growth swept sharply down. She didn’t make it more than five yards before her footing gave way, sending her tumbling into a deep gully filled with brambles.

A deep male voice boomed from the neighboring valley, “I thought you said that they’d be here.”

Stickers snagged Vi’s clothes and skin as she rolled onto her belly.

“Patience,” the woman hissed.

Vi tried to clamber to her feet. Briars caught her leg. She lost her balance and toppled forward. When she broke her fall, thorns punctured the palms of her hands. She ripped her leg free and flipped over. What she saw sent a wave of panic surging through her. Branches entwined, writhing and waving like the tentacles of a great, reedy octopus. She blinked. As she tried to scramble away, they curled in, coiling around her from all sides. The more she fought, the worse it got. There were so many she wasn’t sure where they were coming from. Her arms were stretched above her head. Her legs were caught. She felt her body leave the ground. As she jerked free, a thick, twisted cluster of canes coiled around her throat.

“Like I told you, these little twats are fast and strong, but they aren’t very smart.” The woman’s voice was light with laughter.

She was close, probably at the top of the gully. Vi wanted to look up, but couldn’t. After snaring her arm, the brambles had encircled her head. Thorns pierced her upper lip and cheeks. But thorns pretty much pierced her everything. Resisting was only making her bleed.

“You said that you’d be interested in one with dark skin?” The woman’s question was punctuated by shrill, panicked screeches.

 _Wait. What did she mean?_ That didn’t make any sense. And Rona’s incessant screaming wasn’t helping. She was to Vi’s right and closing in.

Rona’s screams were choked off. She gagged and burbled as she drifted above Vi’s head, dangling by one leg. Her body swung wildly as she thrashed.

“She might do,” the man replied. “But I’ll be seeing her cunt before I say any more.” His voice was throaty, but he slurred his ‘s’s. The speech impediment made him sound like some gigantic cartoon snake.  
   
Ashes rained down, obscuring Vi’s view. When they cleared, Rona was nowhere to be seen.

“This bitch has been spoiled,” the man said. “I’ll give you three and not a penny more.”

“You’ll give me five,” the woman replied coolly.

The man exclaimed, “You dare?”

“I dare,” the woman countered. “Don’t test my patience. I’m paying you a great honor by allowing you first choice. You’ll give me five or I’ll send you and your entire clan back to the pit you crawled out of.”

_They’re haggling. But over what? Over us? For what? How can they expect—?_

A fat gray rat sat on Vi’s chest sniffing at her chin. How long it’d been there she couldn’t say, but noticing it changed everything. Thorns tore at her lip and cheeks as she screamed. She didn’t care that Rona drifted naked and limp back into her line of sight. Her eyes fixed on the black tuft of hair that blotted out the stars. The man and woman bickered as she fought with all of her might to escape. What they said was meaningless too. The rat was gone and that was all that mattered.

Vi’s bonds tightened, strangling her screams. Her chest compressed. Thorns tore at her breasts. Her legs splayed open. Chill night air met her skin. Somehow she was naked. Her arms stretched tight. A blood drop splashed her face. Briars ripped into the tender flesh of her gut. The rat was back and it’d brought friends. She counted, _four, five_ as they scurried over her face. But she couldn’t count. Sharp little claws pricked her skin head to toe. The parts of her body that didn’t burn with pain were awash with motion.

Blood rained down on her from above. It splashed her eyes, blurring her vision. Blinking it away was useless. The blood stirred the frenzy. Rats swarmed over her face, screeching, writhing and chattering. Nails scraped. Tongues lapped. Teeth bit in.

 When the rats squealed and scampered away, Vi’s eyes sprung open. A flaming, v-shaped object fell toward her face. Her eyes snapped shut. Hot and solid, a mass hit her nose and broke apart. Ashes coated her skin.

The man said, “I’ll give you eight for the pair. My nephew’s name day is fast approaching. Scrawny little slut will make an adequate gift. Lords of Alzhar know why, but he has a taste for willowy creatures such as this.”

“Make it nine and your house will owe me a debt,” the woman countered.

“Very well, name it and it shall be done,” the man agreed.

The rats returned as their bargaining ended. One sat on the brambles that bound Vi’s breasts. As it cautiously tested the air, the woman asked, “Should I take her arms too?”

“Yes,” the man said, “and her legs. My nephew won’t care whether the skank can kneel or not. He’s at that age, y’know. All he really wants is a wet furrow in which to plant his seed.”

The woman put in, “And her teeth?”

“Fuse her jaw and take her teeth. Both sets. Wouldn’t want the lad to be injured. But leave her voice intact. He’ll love the way she screams.”

None of this made sense to Vi. They couldn’t possibly be talking about her. She was to be a feast for rats. The ashes kept them from her face, but they gnawed at her flesh lower down. Being slowly eaten alive terrified her, but even that seemed better than living forever crippled and enslaved by a petulant boy. She had to believe that they would leave her to the rats. Her eyes burned as she fought to look up. She needed to see their faces, so she’d have something to hate.

“You’ve made a wise decision,” the woman said in a honeyed voice. “When word of this reaches the street, you’ll be the envy of the preternatural world. Common vampires will become passé. Dominating vicious, cunning creatures such as these will command respect.”

  


* * *

  


Starting from a dead sleep, Buffy bolted upright in her seat. Her side ached. She clutched it and looked around.

Both cars were slowing. The bright, pulsing red glow of the Trans Am’s brake lights and turn signal made her squint. It hadn’t been that long. She remembered being at the hotel. Now they were making the turn into her driveway. _Guess it was time to check out._

“Welcome back,” Giles said. There was a knowing grin on the Watcher’s face.

“Yeah, thanks,” Buffy replied as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It didn’t hurt quite so much to talk. That much was good.

The gates swung open. They rode up the driveway together in silence. In her car there was an active, animated discussion going on. She found herself wondering what it was about. One thing was certain: she was pleased to see that Faith was still with them. _I expected her to skip out at the hotel._

As they approached the fork in the driveway, Buffy said, “Hold up.” Giles stopped the car. The Trans Am continued on ahead.

Buffy opened the door and got out, leaning back in the car to say, “If you follow this to the right, it goes behind the house. Park in front of the garage and wait. I’ll get the door for you in a few.”

When Giles nodded, Buffy shut the car door and started up the driveway on foot. There was a small garden in the center of the circular drive, with flowers, some rocks and a few oleander shrubs. She stooped down, using the foliage to conceal her presence, so she could listen in. _There’s a chance they’ll sense me, but I just gotta. Something tells me this is gonna be good._

From inside the car, Amy voice rang, “It means she was trying to help, Faith.” She strained to get out of the car, but the exertion didn’t slow her mouth down one bit. “I don’t see why it’s so hard for you to get that through your thick head.”

_Yeah…like I said, ‘good.’ Looks like Daphne and Velma are having a lovers’ tiff. Whatever could that be about?_

Faith rested her forearms on the car’s roof and grumbled, “But she said she could change it.”

Willow spoke up. “I did. But the changes can only be slight and they have to reflect some truth. I can’t augment something that’s not already there.”

There was genuineness to her statement that caused Buffy pause. _Y’know, it’s kinda strange, there’s this thing about her. I didn’t put my finger on until now. She was bad for so long I’d forgotten how completely unassuming she is. It’s never a mystery how she feels. She doesn’t try to hide much, and when she does it’s always funny. I think that’s one of the things that first drew me to her. When she was bad, that became something else. It turned into a mockery of innocence. But the mockery’s gone now. I’m glad some part of that—_  

“Look, we’ve discussed this to death,” Faith growled, interrupting Buffy’s train of thought.

_I’m glad something good survived._

Staring Amy down across the roof of the car, Faith seethed, “I’m sick of this. I still don’t see what difference it makes. It’s like you said, Amy, soul or soulless just doesn’t mean much.” Miss Grumpy Pants raked her hair out of her eyes. “What happened to that?”

Buffy couldn’t see Amy’s expression, but she guessed it to be pretty grim based on the show Faith was putting on. It surprised her a little when Amy replied, “Willow convinced me.” Her statement was succinct and totally levelheaded.

Which didn’t affect Faith at all. “How?” she grumbled.

“By trusting me,” Amy replied. This was news to Buffy. She listened with interest as Amy went on, “Willow can’t manipulate fire at all.”

When Faith gave her a sidelong glance, Willow shrugged as if to say, ‘she’s right.’

“She trusted me enough to help. You know me. I couldn’t do something like that by myself. She put her fate and Buffy’s in my hands.”

That was pretty much all Buffy needed to hear. _Mystery solved._

Willow picked up the previous thought. “I’ll grant you that it’s an imprecise science.” As her witch spoke, Buffy strode around the driveway. “There are an awful lot of wannabes out there that claim to see auras as a scam. It doesn’t help with the credibility. I get that.” Buffy stopped at Willow’s side and put an arm around her. Willow returned the gesture. “But you have to see that there are certain things that people just can’t fake. This is pretty much one of them.” When Willow finished her statement, she turned her head, giving Buffy the sweetest smile.

Buffy had managed to draw the interest of the entire gang. She didn’t care. _They can look all they want. It makes no difference to me._ Willow’s caress was lots more appealing. Buffy focused on it, what she could feel of it. There were too many layers of leather and scar tissue for her to feel much. _I wonder if Jonathan likes dogs. I should get him a Great Dane for his birthday. It’d totally complete the image._

“The first time I saw it…” Amy said as she studied them. Her attention returned to Faith. “…it was almost the color it is now: a dark reddish-brown, like dried blood. Not a good sign.” She smiled. “I mean, seeing it at all was a good sign, but the intent? It sorta means she was thinking about murder. Big surprise. But it was patchy and flecked with the same brown it is now, so…some hope.”

Buffy asked, “When?” trying to imagine when Amy had gotten a chance.

“At the hospital,” Amy replied.

“Murder,” Buffy said with a laugh. “Yeah, I was pissed. Between the vamp and that stupid nurse, it was a miracle no one died.”

Faith had calmed some. She asked, “Brown?”

Buffy was kind of wondering the same thing.

“Depending on the hue,” Willow explained, “it means she was overloaded…really stressed.”

Amy nodded. “That’s how I took it.”

Buffy snickered. “Yeah, ‘stressed’ pretty much covers it,” she mumbled and went to unlock the door. “Bitch was trying to kill my slayer.” _We’ve made Giles wait long enough. There’s no reason we can’t take this inside._

“ _Your_ slayer?” Faith snapped. She seized Buffy’s shoulder and demanded, “What the fuck?”

_Shit! I didn’t even feel her move. I really should watch my mouth._

Buffy left the keys hanging in the lock and turned out of Faith’s grasp. Faith tried to counter, but Buffy snagged her wrists. “You heard me,” Buffy hissed. “You’re alive because I let you live.”

She had to give Faith credit for not looking away. The slayer even gave up actual struggling in favor of struggling to regain her cool. That had to hurt. When she calmed down, Buffy let go.

“Why?” Faith asked.

“Like I told your Watcher, ‘the devil you know’,” Buffy replied, stepping back to lean against the door. “You always did have sort of a dark side, Faith. I just figured your replacement wouldn’t be half as entertaining.”

Willow walked right into the feud. “We gonna stand out here all night, _or_ —?” Buffy got that she was done when her witch went on. “I mean, this pissing contest is intriguing, but _really_ —”


	15. A Three-Edged Sword

Willow sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a patchwork of colors, none of them pretty. There were blues and greens and purples and yellows and even black. The right side of Buffy’s ribs, her shoulder, arm and legs were a veritable rainbow of hues that the body shouldn’t be.

Willow blinked. _I don’t even know where to begin._

“Y’know that thing that keeps us from entering someone’s home?”

Willow opened the first aid kit. _I’ve got to stop wallowing and do something._

“Will?”

 _If I don’t, I’m not seeing a happy ending. Not for any of us._

Willow pulled out the top tray of the kit and set it aside. A quick search through the bottom uncovered a wide elastic bandage.

 _“Will?”_

 _There has to be something. Some magical solution to this nightmare._

Willow sighed through a mumbled, “Yeah,” as she unrolled the first few inches of the bandage.

Buffy repeated, “You know that thing?”

 _Boy, she sounds miffed._

Willow nodded and motioned for Buffy to sit up. When the request appeared difficult to answer, Willow offered a hand.

Buffy brushed it away and got up with a groan. She turned around and sat cross-legged on the bed with her back to Willow. “If I rented rooms to our guests, could we do that thing?” she asked.

Willow ran her fingertips over the edge of one of the bruises. There was a knot low on Buffy’s ribcage between her skin and bone. She explored a little more until Buffy snapped, “Stop it.”

Another sigh slipped out. Willow started to apply the bandage. “I don’t see why we can’t just call it a night,” she whispered.

 _Yeah, way to be proactive._

“None of this can wait, Will,” Buffy replied.

 _She’s right._

She laced her fingers behind her head. It looked painful. But everything about this looked that way.

“No,” Willow said.

Buffy cast an annoyed glance over her shoulder, looking through the fold in her arm. “What do you mean ‘no’?” she snipped. “‘No’ what? ‘No’ I’m not right?”

The part of her expression Willow could see was cringe-worthy. There were daggers in that stare. “No, that _thing_ won’t work,” Willow clarified, reaching around to smooth the puckered fabric below Buffy’s breasts. She gently added tension to the bandage, causing Buffy to wince. “Sorry, this has to be tight,” she mumbled.

Some of the anger faded. Buffy asked, “Why?”

It wasn’t hard for Willow to guess which ‘why.’ _She doesn’t give a cuss about this. All I’m doing is keeping my hands busy._ “Because you can’t bless something that belongs to a vampire, Buffy,” she explained. “It’s impossible. We’re damned, in case you hadn’t noticed.” _What I want or think or do doesn’t matter, not when there’s a plot to hatch or a scheme to…uh, scheme._ Willow rolled her eyes. _Whatever. I just wish she’d just take some time to—_

The instant Willow hooked the little metal spiky things into the fabric to secure the bandage Buffy huffed and tried to get up. _That’s not in Buffy’s nature._

But giving up so easily wasn’t in Willow’s nature. She clamped her hand over Buffy’s good shoulder. “I’m not done with you yet,” she said, biting off each word. She was through with trying to hide her annoyance. _Heaven forbid we take some time to gain some perspective, or maybe tend a wound._

Willow crossed the room, leaving Buffy on the bed to stew. “Look, I get it, y’know,” she grumbled as she opened a dresser drawer in search of comfy clothes. “You’re pissed. You’ve had a bad night.” She located Buffy’s underwear drawer and removed a pair, placing them on the dresser with a thump. “Well, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry you’re in pain. And I’m sorry you feel crappy.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

The first drawer closed with a ‘whump’ when Willow batted it. She opened two more before she found the drawer with the undershirts. The topmost shirt was a really pretty shade of blue. She grabbed it up and swung around, seething, “But I’m not gonna let you take it out on me.” She waggled her finger and the pretty, blue shirt as she gave Buffy a reproachful glare.

When Buffy looked away, Willow turned back to the dresser to resume her search and her rant, “I’ve had a bad night too.” She put the blue shirt on top of the underwear with an equally thumpy gesture. “Actually, I’ve had a bad night that just sort of blends into an ongoing chain of unpleasant events that have been occurring since you woke me up. It’s been awful. Horribly, amazingly, wonderfully awful.” She grinned in spite of herself and stooped to open the right lower drawer. A pair of black sweats caught her eye. She grabbed them, stood up and shoved the drawer closed with her foot.

As the sweats joined pile, Buffy tried to interrupt, “Yeah, I know—”

“No!” Willow snapped and spun around. “You’re going to listen to me for a change.”

Buffy looked positively stricken.

Staring her down took all of Willow’s resolve. It seemed so mean. The soft spot in her heart played gooshy, gooey little games with her head. She stood her ground until Buffy turned away. “I don’t believe this is about that,” Willow grumbled. “I’d be willing to bet this has nothing to do with you getting your ass kicked. Or sticking your stupid foot in your mouth. Or any of the other shit that’s happened tonight.”

Willow went back to what she was doing. It was hard to believe that after all that aggravation, one thing actually came easy. She opened the middle drawer and a black hoodie was sitting right on top, which was good because she was about to start throwing things. She pulled it out and added it to the pile.

“Faith’s still here by the way,” she said. “Amy talked her down. They’re getting cleaned up in the room across the hall.”

“Thanks,” Buffy whispered. It was really strange to see her so mousy and withdrawn.

Willow picked up the pile of clothing, leaned against the drawer to close it and approached the bed. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “You don’t get to choose.”

When Buffy moved to the edge of the bed and tried to reach for the pile of clothes, Willow swatted her hand away. “It’s like the smile,” she whispered and picked up Buffy’s underwear. “Sort of.” Her skirt fanned out around her as she kneeled at Buffy’s feet. The bruises were still troubling. As Willow stared at them, more of her anger faded. She gently lifted each of Buffy’s feet to slip her panties on and pulled them up to her thighs. “I know it makes you crazy when someone fusses over you,” she explained. “It makes you think they feel sorry for you. But this isn’t like that.”

Willow picked up the sweat pants and did the same, gathering up each leg to make it easier on Buffy. Then she stood and helped Buffy up. She grabbed the undershirt and bunched the sides, stretching it to hold the arm holes and neck open as Buffy pulled up her pants.

Unable to bite back a wince, Buffy raised her arms.

“It’s part of the package,” Willow said as she threaded the shirt over Buffy’s arms and head. “I worry when you’re hurt.” She pulled the shirt down. “I can’t help wanting to, umm…” she shrugged “… _help_ if I can make it any better. I need you to let me.” She looked away, reaching for the hoodie. “It hurts that you won’t.” She slipped Buffy’s arm through the right sleeve. “There’s always good and bad,” she whispered as she assisted Buffy with her left sleeve. “You can’t just accept one thing and ignore the other. It doesn’t work that way.”

Willow let Buffy handle pulling the shirt over her head. She offered a hand here and there, tugging stubborn parts and moving Buffy’s hair, but nothing more. It probably hurt less that way, or so she hoped. When they finished, Willow led Buffy to the couch and helped her sit. “It’s okay, though. You don’t have to worry. I won’t embarrass you in front of our guests,” she said, going to the bathroom to get the blow dryer and a brush.

Another sheepish, “Thanks,” came from the bedroom.

Finding what she wanted wasn’t hard. It was all in the top drawer of the vanity. Upon reentering the room, Willow located an outlet, and leaning down, plugged the blow dryer in. The cord was just long enough to reach. She strode over to Buffy, saying, “But for now—” She cut herself off by turning the dryer on and got right to the task at hand. _I don’t wanna hear another word._

As far as Willow was concerned, the conversation was over. The fact that she’d had to say anything at all left her feeling wounded. She struggled to control her distress while she worked the dampness and tangles from Buffy’s hair. _I deserve a cookie for not using the word ‘selfish’ or ‘brat’ in that little lecture. Like I want one._

Willow finished by putting Buffy’s hair up in a French braid. Buffy sat silent and still with her head bowed the entire time. She was still sitting that way when Willow emerged from putting the hairdryer away. Willow put it down to sulking. She wasn’t going to let that bother her. She made her way to the door, pausing at the dresser to smell her roses. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said and pulled the door shut.

  


* * *

  


Buffy sat on the couch, staring at her feet, wondering how else she could possibly screw up. _Doesn’t really matter. Gimme half a chance and I will. Just a fact._

 _And I don’t even have to try. Now that’s true talent._

When she couldn’t stomach any more, Buffy went to her closet and emptied the pockets of her leather jacket. Just getting up was miserable. A sharp pain cut through her side. She clutched it and made herself move.

Cigarettes and lighter were high on her list of wants. _Like that makes any sense at all. I can’t smoke like this._ She paused to look at the lipstick Willow had given her, shook her head and pocketed that too. It was a scribble in the margin of the long list of bullshit she didn’t want to deal with.

But Buffy didn’t have much choice. Right now her guests were standing between her and the only relief she knew. She slipped on a pair of flip flops, grabbed her card and left her room. As she trudged down the hallway toward the elevator, her body was a mass of grumbles and complaints. Making it shut the hell up was the only thing on the list that mattered.

And she wouldn’t have minded bumping into Willow. But any hope she had of that, or maybe fixing some of the crap that was wrong before more crap went wrong, was completely misguided. There wasn’t a soul around but her. _Fits the day._ She pressed the down button.

 _It’d be kinda naïve to hope for a better day tomorrow, wouldn’t it?_

The doors slid open and she stepped inside, tapping the number one as she settled against the wall.

 _Yeah, pretty much._

When the elevator doors opened, she made a beeline to the first conference room. _Hail, hail, the gang’s all here. Yippy! All except Willow. Yay!_ Ignoring them, she went straight for the booze. _This keeps up, alcoholism’s gonna be the least of my problems._

Buffy didn’t acknowledge anyone until she had a drink in hand. She turned around and took a sip. The alcohol burned her nose and everything else. Its warmth radiated from her belly as she stood sizing up her guests.

Giles was already pretty much planted in her spot at the head of the table, reading a book. It was funny seeing the watcher in a sweatshirt. _I don’t think I’ve ever seen him tweedless. He must feel naked._ Faith and Amy sat across from where she stood at the sideboard that served as a bar. Faith stared at the floor, spinning in her chair and looking supremely bored. Amy read. Jonathan sat across from her with his back to Buffy, doing the same. _Whoa…’kay, well, this is gonna be a tough crowd._

Buffy took the seat on Giles’ left, next to Jonathan, and cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t know if Will said anything, but you’re free to whatever…” she said, gesturing over her shoulder to the bar “…wherever. Make yourselves at home.” _I don’t think there’s a single one of us who couldn’t use a drink._ “All I ask is that you stay out of the basement.”

Giles looked up from his book with a wry grin on his face. “Keeping the ‘Three Sisters’ down there, I suppose?” he asked.

Buffy snorted and took another stiff drink before she replied, “Nothing nearly so entertaining. But I could see about hiring them on if it’d make you happy.”

Giles didn’t look impressed.

“It’s just this vamp-geek named Dalton,” she explained. “He’s a research nerd. I don’t want to have to dust him. He’s occasionally useful.” The alcohol was beginning to take the edge off. She finished her drink in a single swallow and rose to get another.

Giles and Jonathan both looked intrigued. And Amy might’ve, but it was hard to tell for the bruised puffy flesh around her eyes and the tape on her nose.

There was no harm in filling in a little more, so Buffy did. “I told him not to talk to anyone but me. The more people, the more chance he’ll get stupid. Trust me, you’re not missing much.”

Drinking straight lighter fluid really wasn’t her thing. She wanted her juice enough to go through bending down to get it. As she set her glass down and stooped to reach into the small refrigerator concealed in the cabinets of the sideboard, Willow entered the room.

“Coffee?” Willow asked.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder as she rose. Willow had changed out of the pink, floral dress into a cream colored, crocheted one that nearly reached her ankles. Its sleeveless top and pencil skirt conformed to the shape of her body, but they weren’t skin tight by any stretch. It was the most modest thing Buffy had ever seen her wear. _Weird. I didn’t know that Willow owned anything like that._

Willow’s dress was a nice distraction, but Buffy still felt like she’d been hammered, and not in the pleasant, muzzy way. She set the juice down and picked up the vodka, pouring half a glass. Her quest for numbness was derailed by the urge to take another peek. It was just going to be a quick glance. She should’ve known better. Something always spoiled that for her.

This time it was Jonathan. Poor guy might’ve been mortified, but with his back to her and his nose so firmly planted in his book, it was difficult to say. But he was the only one reading and moments before he hadn’t been. Everyone else was doing their thing, accepting their cups, exchanging courtesies.

That was enough to make Buffy suspicious. She found herself staring, trying to figure out what was wrong. Willow was bent over the table serving coffee. Her dress wasn’t opaque by any means—it was crocheted after all—but it was miles from indecent. The parts that should’ve been covered were covered by a tight floral pattern. It even looked like she had a slip on underneath, which for her was astounding.

 _Whatever. It’s not like Jonathan’s chain is all that hard to yank. She probably just looked at him._

 _Or there’s that whole ‘attempted murder’ thing. Maybe he’s just wigging about that. Who’d blame him? It’s not often the person you shot serves you coffee with a smile the very next week. He’s probably wondering if it’s poisoned. Never mind that nutty flavor, Jonathan. It’s just chickaree._

Buffy turned back to the sideboard and topped her drink off with juice, taking a sip to test. There was just enough citrusy goodness to cut the edge, but not enough to stop the burn. A cough threatened to come. She cleared her throat. _Pretty much perfect._

When she turned around, Willow was seated in what had been her chair. Buffy gave up. There was another chair opposite Giles, but she was just as happy standing. She had another swallow of her citrus-colored napalm before attempting to break the ice. “I’m not even sure where to begin. I get that you guys have no reason to trust us. The only thing keeping you here is a serious lack of options.”

Giles stood and approached her. Buffy moved down so he could browse the selection as he spoke, “I would agree. Perhaps we should concentrate on the matter at hand. The sooner this is resolved, the sooner we may part company.”

Buffy wasn’t sure why his words stung, but they did. She shot him a defensive, “Oh, trust me, Giles. You can’t make that too soon for me. But fact is, you’re safer here.” Her opinion changed. She wanted to get far away from him as possible. Though she was tempted to claim her place in his absence, she went to the other vacant chair, took a seat and another healthy gulp of her drink.

Seemingly oblivious to the bitter glance she gave him, Giles poured himself a snifter of cognac.

She set her glass down. _That’s it, Giles. Make yourself at home. Fucker has good taste. Figures he’d go straight for the Hennessy._

Willow cut into her snit to say, “Hold up, guys. I don’t see any reason why we can’t work together.”

Buffy turned toward her, but Willow didn’t seem the least bit interested. She was peering thoughtfully across the table at Amy.

Of course, Faith just had to snark, “Yeah, none at all, unless you count us being mortal enemies.”

Buffy ignored her in favor of studying Willow. It was the better option. From where she sat now, it was even less possible to see what might’ve gotten Jonathan’s Underoos in a twist. A stretchy, pale peach camisole peeked out through the elongated armhole of Willow’s dress. The shade was very close to her natural skin tone. _Maybe he just got confused? Thought he saw more than he did?_

 _Or maybe it really was that other thing. Who knows? I guess it’s just weird seeing a guy wig over Willow and it not be a ‘sex’ thing._

Buffy sensed that she was being watched. She turned her interest to the most likely suspect. Faith was regarding her with one eyebrow cocked.

 _Great._

 _Well, isn’t this fun?_

Buffy growled under her breath, “This is going nowhere fast.” She took another sip of her drink. _She’s totally right. No reason except the obvious._

“What happened to you, Buffy?” Jonathan asked in a voice just above a whisper. He hadn’t even bothered to look up.

Buffy wondered if she was hearing things. She turned her attention to him and asked, “Whatcha mean, Jonathan?” She was slightly thrown when he met her eyes. _Y’know, I never thought I’d ever, ever like this little guy, but—_

 _Someone needed to find the nerve…or the brains to ask the right questions. Go figure, it’d be the mouse who roared._

Jonathan maintained eye contact in spite of his obvious fear. “Last I saw, you were running out the door of the vineyard carrying—” he nodded at Willow “—then you show back up a week later and Amy says you have a soul? She’s a vampire, obviously ensouled too,” he said, nodding again at Willow. “Now you two are trying to play good-guys?”

 _Fill in the blanks._

Buffy briefly met Willow’s gaze. A slight tip of her witch’s chin was all the permission Buffy needed.

 _Three fingers in fifteen minutes usually takes the edge off. Another finger every fifteen should keep it off._

Buffy downed the last of her drink and got up to mix another. “Umm…Reader’s Digest version,” she said, pouring half a glass of juice. “One of my own double-crossed me during the spell. And as you know, I got my soul back.” _Whatever that means. I’m still trying to figure it out._ She topped her glass off with vodka and turned around. “I took Will to L.A. and found a gypsy to ensoul her.” After sampling her drink, she added another splash of vodka, snagged an ashtray and returned to her seat. “We came back to Sunnydale to try and fix things. Not even sure that’s possible, but we’re trying.”

It was stupid and she knew it, but Buffy put her drink down and reached into the pocket of her hoodie, removing her cigarettes and lighter. She lit up, inhaling a long, slow drag. The smoke grated her nerve endings all the way down. She took a drink to dull the pain before she continued, “We received a visit this morning from a demon. Slimy little bastard. He said that something called ‘The Powers’ sent him.” She paused to clear her scratchy throat. “Will did the vague gesture at the ceiling bit, so I’m gonna guess she thought he meant ‘God’.” Flicking her ash, she snickered. “If I believed in God, I sure wouldn’t give a shit about Him, or Her, or It, or Them…whatever. I’ll say ‘Them’ because of the plural. Fact is, They’ve never done me any favors.”

Buffy had everyone’s attention now and half of them didn’t look impressed. She ignored them, focusing on the rainbow of light reflecting off facets of her crystal tumbler instead. “I don’t care who sent him. Fact is, he gave us the head’s up that pulled your fannies from the fire.”

The Limey faction tittered, but Buffy shrugged him off in favor of another lungful of razorblades. _What-the-fuck-ever._ “I’m totally clueless,” she commented through the smoke. “But I’ve got nothin’ better. These girls are _my_ problem. So I figure we start with the obvious: saving Faith.”

Faith gave Buffy a cold glare. “So you got your soul back during the spell? Damn, B. No wonder you were fallin’ all over yourself. I thought I might actually take ya.”

Buffy picked up her glass and goaded, “It’s nice to dream, isn’t it F.?” The tumbler in her hands still held more interest than any of Faith’s bullshit.

 _Bet I’m not gonna like the answer, but I’ve still gotta ask._ “Any of you grab an old book at the vineyard?” She took in the chorus of ‘no’s and shaking heads. _Yeah, that’s what I thought._ “We’ve got trouble.”

Giles inquired, “What was this book?”

Buffy took another drag off her smoke. It only burned a lot. She gave the Watcher a glance. He looked concerned. _Time to return the favor._ “We got our hands on an old Watchers’ diary,” she mumbled. “Basically, slayer one-oh-one. It’s what we used to figure out the spell.”

“How on earth did you manage that?” Giles asked.

Buffy snickered and took a short puff off her cigarette. She thought she could handle it. That was a mistake. This time she nearly choked to death. She held the lower half of her face and blinked back the tears as she crushed her cigarette out. _This is **so** not fair._ It would’ve been a total shame to drop the ball over a little thing like pain, so she made herself say, “eBay.” Her voice sounded like she’d been gargling gravel, but the word itself had the desired effect. Poor Giles looked aghast.

Buffy took another sip of her drink and licked her lips. “See, thing is, slayers aren’t just randomly picked. The magic goes for the top of the food chain first. So what we got, before you stopped it, were pretty much the potentials with the most potential.”

Jonathan said, “And if the book ended up in the hands of…” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Oh shit, I was right.”

Buffy turned her attention to Faith. “How many girls you see turned?” she asked. “You had the visions too, right?”

It took Faith a moment to answer. “I dunno…maybe twenty-five, thirty tops…the ones who didn’t turn to dust.”

“Sounds about right,” Buffy agreed. “The spell didn’t run that long.” _Well, it’s bad, but it’s not that bad. We can deal if there aren’t any more like Morticia. And you can pretty much bet they sent their best for that little snatch and dash. It was too important. They had one shot. And they—_

“They already have what they need.”

It was Willow who had spoken. Her voice was soft, but calm, flat and decisive, like she already knew.

Buffy looked up, but inside she was falling. She goggled, blinked and stammered, “When exactly did you plan on sharing this little revelation with me?”

Willow briefly met Buffy’s eyes. “I’m sharing it with you now.” For an instant everything about her said ‘don’t screw with me,’ then she went back to her careful study of her coffee cup. Her finger stroked its rim as she explained, “To restart the spell they’d need the slayer, a vampire, and a potential, all together, the blood of each.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t really matter how you mix them. Any of them can represent the vampire and slayer elements now. There’d be a minor wording change. But if they have the power to do the magic, they’d have what they need to figure it out. The only other thing they need is a potential and there’s a locator spell in the book.”

Buffy couldn’t believe her ears. She was just about to butt in when Willow added, “This spell is bound to the lunar cycle, Buffy. If they restarted it tonight, control would default to you. Any witch or warlock with enough skill to rewrite the spell will see that. They can’t act until the beginning of the next lunar cycle.”

Through a snicker Amy spoke up. “You mean tomorrow night?”

Willow turned to Amy and grinned, replying, “Exactly.”

Buffy was at a loss. _No clue what’s so amusing._ She took a healthy slug from her glass. _I’d have the biggest headache ever if it wasn’t for…_

Amy glanced around the table as though taking the temperature of the room. “I think I know where we can start looking.”

Willow asked, “Where?”

“Rack,” Amy replied. “He’ll do anything for a price.”

 _Oh brother…here we go._

“Yeah, that might be a problem,” Willow said.

The ‘huh’ was written all over Amy’s face.

Go figure, Willow just had to help out. “You’ll need a shovel.” She even wore one of her cute, mischievous little grins.

Buffy rolled her eyes. The two witches were the only ones who had it figured. But that looked like it was about to change, so Buffy jumped in, “He was getting too close to you. I ordered him to stop. When he didn’t, I ordered he be stopped.” _It’d be a shame to lose the little bit of headway we’ve made._

Willow looked up, briefly meeting Buffy’s gaze. There was a ‘thank you’ in her expression. Buffy gave her the slightest of nods.

“There are other options,” Willow said, turning her attention back to her cup. “In a town like this, there would be. I have a pretty good idea where to look.”

Somewhere between here and there, storm clouds had brewed over Faith’s head _again_. And of course, she just had to stick her nose in, “Is there anything…”

Buffy started to laugh.

“…you two didn’t—?”

Suddenly sober, she cut the slayer off with a sharp, decisive, “No.”

 _There’s just something about watching a person run around in circles that makes me want to stick my foot out. Especially if they’re vicious—the circles that is._

 _‘Hit me.’_

  


* * *

  


 _‘Come here.’_ Buffy’s lips were easy enough to read. Her cold, gray eyes were locked on Faith, merciless and unyielding.

 _Two words._

Faith felt herself rise from her chair. _I’m screwed._ She crossed the room, feeling like an obedient hound.

Two more words broke the stunned silence of the room, “Hit me.”

Every eye was on them. Faith couldn’t figure out why she was so nervous. It made no sense. _I don’t care what they think. And hitting B.? It’d be my pleasure._

“You know you wanna,” Buffy purred.

Amy stood up and stomped out the door, taking Willow with her. Faith didn’t so much see it as feel it. The two witches were ticked. They didn’t want any part of this ‘pissing match.’ Or that’s what they’d say if they had bothered to say anything at all.

 _Well, Amy will just have to forgive me._

Faith swung. Her fist struck Buffy under the chin. Bitch didn’t even try to block. Faith’s hand throbbed. It was perfect. A big ol’ grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Buffy reeled and staggered backwards, shaking her head. Her eyes were piss-yellow now. “Again,” she snarled through gritted teeth.

Giles was on his feet, but he stayed put.

Faith drew back and clobbered the bitch again.

The vamp’s right cheek got it this time. Her head whipped around. She shook it off. Heavy ridges lined her brow. But she didn’t make a move except to wipe the trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Feel better?” she asked through a gruesome smile.

 _Two more words. We really need to work on your vocabulary, B._

Faith didn’t answer. The first thing that came to mind that wasn’t total bullshit was simply ‘no.’

Buffy picked up her drink and took a sip. A little bit of blood washed back into the glass.

Faith watched the wispy red cloud disperse. _I seriously wanna throw down with her._

 _So what’s stopping me?_

 _I dunno. Maybe the fact that she’d mop the floor with my ass._

Buffy grabbed her smokes off the table. “Here’s the thing, F.,” she whispered, holding out the pack to offer Faith one. “I think I get why you’re so pissed, but you’ve got it wrong.”

When Faith accepted, Buffy clicked her lighter. Faith clenched the smoke between her lips and leaned in, dipping its tip into the flame.

“You’re just not pissed at the right thing,” Buffy said, lighting a cigarette for herself.

Faith took a drag and let the smoke go. _Oh, do share, B. This should be precious. She thinks she’s some font of wisdom. Bitch is about as wise as a Magic Eight-Ball._

Buffy downed half her drink before she went on, “When you first got here, I was living in some rat infested hole on the bad side of town.” She set her glass down and put her hand on her hip. “All you had to do was burn it down. That’s it. It wasn’t hard.” A smiling vamp was one of the most disgusting things Faith had ever seen. When Buffy’s smile turned into a sneer, things got even worse. “I didn’t give a shit. I might’ve even thanked you.” There was something bitter about the tone of her voice, something almost like regret. “But you didn’t and I got stronger.”

The evil dead were seriously sanctimonious tonight. Faith was tempted to bail on Buffy’s sermon, preferably before she reached the moral. She didn’t quite get there in time.

Buffy took a hit off her cigarette. “And what did you do with your time?” Her question clouded the air between them. When the smoke cleared, Buffy’s face was back to what passed for human. “Bottom line…” she thrust a finger at Faith’s chest “…it’s not me you should be pissed at.”

Faith opened her mouth. There were dozens, maybe even hundreds of things she could’ve said. All that came out was, “Fuck you.”

Buffy turned on heel, grabbed up her drink and left the room.

Jonathan was the next to go. “Nice job, Faith,” he mumbled on his way out.

Faith couldn’t believe her ears. She watched, stunned as he stormed away. _Oh, that’s just beautiful._

The only one left was Giles. The last thing she needed was his shit too. She swiped the pack of smokes Buffy left behind and headed for the door.


	16. The Devil’s Due

_Fire in the fireplace, good cognac, leather chair, old book…it’s like a scene from Masterpiece Theater. Shame Giles is out of costume._

A single lamp in the back corner of the large library provided the only light. It had been simple for Buffy to slip through the door unnoticed by her human guests. She stood cloaked in shadow, leaning against the end of a bookshelf, watching them.

 _I really should’ve taken five to finish dinner before I came here. Timing just sucks. Alcohol and blood loss aren’t exactly a great mix. It was eat or pass out._

Her face twisted with revulsion when she took another sip of chilled blood. _Gawd that’s disgusting. But I was right. It’s not so, umm…_

 _It’s not so much like gravy._

The thought was less than helpful. She reached for a cigarette to kill the taste. When she lit her smoke, the watcher and his boy looked up. There was one tiny bit of good news. The smoke didn’t burn so much. “We need to talk,” she said.

Jonathan was trying to leave.

“You first,” she said, focusing on him as he tried to slip past. _The sooner I finish this shit, the better._ She took another drink of the blood. _Whatever. It’s not like my monsteriness is breaking news. I just hope this doesn’t make it harder for them to see past it._

To her surprise, Jonathan met her eyes and said, “Yeah?”

Buffy shook her head and walked over to the nearest of three round, central tables. Taking a seat, she motioned for Jonathan to join her.

Giles left his chair by the rear stacks and made his way to the table. When Buffy gave a slight tip of her chin, he seated himself across from her.

Jonathan sat to her left, eyeing her curiously. As she took another drink, he asked, “Reflex?” He made a vague gesture to indicate he meant her eyes. When she nodded, he said, “I wondered about the sunglasses.”

 _My god. Is he actually making small talk? That’s just too funny._ Buffy replied with a smile, “Yeah, it’s been sort of an eat-and-run kinda day.”

“Ever thought about using colored contacts?” he asked. His attitude changed when she met his eyes and took another sip. The foolish calm went away, but he refused to back down.

Buffy snickered. _That’s actually not a terrible idea._

After pausing to consider him, she whispered, “You guys don’t like me much, do ya?” _Pointless question. Like asking the lamb if it likes the wolf._

No answer was required, but Jonathan replied anyway, “We don’t trust you yet.”

Giles sat very still observing their exchange.

Buffy ignored him, which was probably the point. “I can smell fear,” she said. _Funny thing: the Watcher’s more frightened than his boy._ She smiled and took another drink, chasing it with a hit off her smoke. Its ash was growing long enough that it’d need to go soon. She scanned the room for something that might work as an ashtray. There wasn’t anything, so she rose, held up a finger and walked across the hall to the conference room to get one.

Ashtray in hand, Buffy spoke as she reentered the room, “Here’s the thing. You’re right to be scared. I could snap your neck before your next heartbeat…” approaching the table, she met his eyes “…drain you before you could scream.” She returned to her seat, allowing him a moment to twitch before she broke the suspense. “S’okay, a broken, bloodless you would be much less squirmy and fun.” She plastered on a quirky grin. “Following your instincts is good. Don’t ever forget that.”

To his credit, Jonathan remained surprisingly twitch-free.

Giles more than made up for him. The air between them stank of fear and hostility.

Buffy ignored it and sipped her dinner. “The rest of that is…it really _is_ all about _me_. And _me_ , I have enough shit on my plate to deal with. Every one of these girls is my fault. My problem. Blood on _my_ hands. Not to mention—”

“You really do want to help, don’t you?” Jonathan asked.

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. “And I haven’t managed to figure out why yet. I’m so _not_ noble. The whole ‘hero’ thing’s sort of a joke to me. You’re actually ten times the hero I’ll ever be. I got the super powers package, so I’m stuck with the role. But it is what it is.”

 _I **took** the package. There’s no ‘got’ to it. Something was taken from me. And I took it back._

She was a little surprised that neither of them called her on that. Even Giles remained uncharacteristically silent.

When Jonathan finally managed a reply, all he said was, “Thanks.”

Buffy snickered. “For what?” she asked, unable to wring the incredulity from her tone. She tipped the wine glass and drained it, glad it was over. _It wasn’t that long ago that this was something I enjoyed. Now it’s just something I have to do. It tastes like shit._ She puffed on her cigarette. _What do they put in that crap?_

Her cigarette was done too. As she stomped it out in the ashtray, Jonathan replied with a grin, “For calling me a hero. That had to hurt.”

Buffy was one finger down and starting to feel it. It was time to switch medicines. She teased, “Oh, you know it,” as she stood and grabbed her glass. With every step she took, her body griped. She lingered in the doorway long enough to say, “I’ll be back in a sec,” then left the room.

She abandoned her wineglass on the table in the conference room. The maid would get it in the morning. Running back and forth was getting tedious. She decided to just get everything they might need in one trip. The decanter Willow had brought was still half full and warm to the touch. Buffy picked up the tray it was on and took it to the sideboard, adding juice, vodka, cognac and a tumbler to the mix. The tray wasn’t heavy by her standards when it was loaded; to anyone else’s it would’ve been a handful. It hurt her to lift it, but she braced it against her body and trudged back to the library.

The two men were talking. They clammed up when she entered the room. That was pretty much what she expected. She took the tray to the table, mixed herself a slightly less toxic cocktail and took a sip before she got down to business. “I’m a little short on help,” she said, addressing Jonathan. “I was wondering if you’d like a job.”

Jonathan looked up from pouring himself a cup of coffee. His expression was priceless.

Buffy kept the smile, but ate the laugh. “Look, I know you work part time at the Magic Box,” she said. “I don’t want to cut into that, but I could really use you.” She snickered. “And not in a bad way.” 

The library wasn’t really dark by her standards, but she figured her guests couldn’t see. And that they probably couldn’t find the switch. It was in a strange spot. She stood up and went to the pillar where it was to turn on the area lamps. One of them was out, indicating that she’d guessed right. She walked over and turned it on before reclaiming her seat.  

Jonathan eyed her the entire time as though she’d sprouted pixie wings or something. Finally, he said, “You’re serious.”

“Uh, _yeah_ …I usually am,” Buffy replied, pulling a cigarette from her pack and tapping it filter first on the table. “What? Do you think that evil masterminds are just evil and mastermindy all on their own? It takes a lot of work to keep something like this together. You learn to delegate.”

Buffy regarded Jonathan thoughtfully for a moment. He seemed to be keeping up, so she lit her cigarette and went on, “Here’s the thing, I have a house full of humans now and I haven’t got a clue.”

His grin turned to a smirk.

 _If he liked that, he’ll love this._ “So, I figure I need an expert and I can’t think of anyone more qualified.” _I hope he takes that the right way._

He did. Or at least he seemed to. But it caused him to sober. “What would I do?” he asked.

It was good to see that he seemed to seriously be considering her offer. “Just keep the household running,” she explained. “Make sure people have what they need. The next few weeks are gonna be tough. We need someone to handle the basics.”

“That sounds like what I already do,” Jonathan replied with a laugh.

“See? You’re an expert.” She cocked an eyebrow. “So, do we have a deal?”

When he replied, “I think so,” she took a banded stack of bills from her pocket and placed it on the table next to the tray. “Take five-hundred off the top to cover your services for the first week. We can play it by ear from there.”

Jonathan eyed the money suspiciously.

Buffy feigned indifference. Really, she was completely amused. “You know a lot better than I do what they need. Just take care of it, ’kay?” She paused to give him a second to respond. When he nodded, she went on, “First thing, no one’s eaten tonight. Find out what they want and order something.”

She glanced at Giles. He didn’t look impressed at all. _Like that’s a shock._

“In the morning I’d like you to call a florist and place a standing order for a dozen roses,” she said. _Sharing this is weird, especially with His Stodginess around._ She cleared her throat to shake off her discomfort. “I’m not sure how long they last, but I don’t want her to ever be without them again.”

Jonathan mumbled, “Okay,” as he got up to leave.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she concluded. “I’ll make a list. Don’t worry. Nothing big. Just some details.” She dismissed him with a wave and her thanks.

She assumed they were done, but Jonathan only made it halfway to the door before he turned back to ask, “What do you miss?”

His tone was so restrained, she could’ve pretended not to hear. He would’ve probably lost his nerve and gone away. But there was a hint of something like respect in his voice. Coming from any one of them, that was nothing short of a miracle. Buffy twisted in her seat to face him.

For the first time that evening, Jonathan refused to meet her eyes.

She asked, “What do you mean?”

It took him a moment to summon the courage to speak, “About being human. There has to be something.”

 _Oh, jeez. Lots of stuff, I guess. And nothing much. God, how do I even answer?_

 _Do I even answer? Has he earned the right?_

 _Yeah, I think he has...but Giles?_

 _Fuck him._

Buffy turned away and had a sip of her drink. Then she replied with the first thing that came to mind, “My mother.” That was more than she wanted to give. _I could’ve said ‘chocolate’ or something, but really, how lame would that’ve been?_

When Jonathan had gone, Giles whispered, “That was touching. Not to mention very generous.”

The sarcasm irritated Buffy, but she brushed it off, peering into her glass. Even in the low yellow light of the library, the cut crystal cast a rainbow. It was pretty. Indifference in her voice, Buffy said, “Well, if you liked that, you’re gonna love this.”

Giles didn’t take the bait.

Buffy looked him up and down. “I don’t know what your problem is,” she said, “but so far I’ve been nothing but nice to you and you’ve had this big ol’ chip. Care to share?”

There was nothing friendly about Giles’ smile. “Really? Is that so? Then you won’t mind explaining your actions with Faith.”

 _That’s what this is about?_ “What do you mean?” Buffy said with a laugh. “I gave her exactly what she wanted. Is there something wrong with that?” _She seriously needed to work out her issues. Hitting me was one of the best things that’s happened to her, uh…well, since the last time she hit me._

 _Now the rest wasn’t very nice. At least I guess it wasn’t. Seems pretty relative. She deserved it. And so does he._

Giles savored a sip of his cognac, letting it rest in his mouth before he swallowed. He’d say he wasn’t so much a ruffian that he couldn’t take a moment to appreciate the finer things. But it was obvious, despite his momentary lapse, that he was still upset. When he spoke again, it became even more apparent, “It wasn’t what you did; it was how you went about it. Do you often control the people you wish to befriend?”

“Control?” Buffy said. The lilt hadn’t left her voice. Giles was just too funny. “What do you think I am? I can’t control anyone. I mean, not really—not if they don’t want to do what I ask them to. Not unless they’re stupid.” She stood up just a little too quickly. “I gave her permission.”

Giles flinched. Fear radiated off of him. The air was thick with the stench of it. _You should be afraid, you brain-dead old fart. We need to work together and you and your stupid ‘charge’ are seriously making me regret my newfound goodness. I’m starting to rethink. And trust me, you don’t want that._

“That’s not what this is about at all, is it? What I said struck a nerve,” she whispered as she walked away with her drink in hand. Turning, she leaned against a bookcase and examined him. The truth was there. He just wouldn’t say it, so she did. “You didn’t have the balls to order my execution.” A cold laugh slipped out. “Or was it the stomach?”

Giles looked away. “It was unwise. My slayer was barely trained. And you posed no immediate threat,” he mumbled.

 _Excuses. You know as well as I do that’s bullshit. You put your enemies down before they become a problem._

Buffy asked, “Y’know what I think, Giles?” quickly amending, “Do you care what I think?”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he replied.

She sipped her drink to bide time. Finally, she said, “I don’t think any of this matters. Fact is, we’re all still alive. Let’s concentrate on keeping it that way.”

“On that point you have my complete agreement,” Giles said.

“Well, at least there’s that,” Buffy said.

As she strode back over to the table to get a smoke, Giles said, “However, on the matter of money, I believe we’ll be able to manage on our own. Your handouts, while generous, are completely unnecessary.”

 _Unnecessary? He’s too damn stuck up for his own good. They just lost everything. And while I know he probably has insurance, that’ll take time. They need some stopgappish cash pronto._

Lighting her cigarette, she snatched up the ashtray and turned away. “That wasn’t a handout.” Her brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly truth. Part of it had been. “What I said was true. I need someone to keep this place running. It doesn’t do that on its own. And I don’t have time to deal with it.” She moved to the next table to give Giles some space.

“Well, I guess part of it was, in so far as it was money given to pay a debt. You wouldn’t be in the situation you’re in if wasn’t for me.” She set her stuff down and went to collect her drink. “As far as I’m concerned, it was the smart thing to do.” Giles met her eyes when she turned to return to her table. She lingered to hold his gaze. “You guys won’t be any good to me if you get bogged down by the minutia. You need things to function. And I need you to function, so it was in my best interest to help out.”

When she was done defending her decision to the Merchant of Sunnydale, she put some distance between them. “As far as the stuff with Faith goes, I’ll admit my methods were a little twisted.” She sat on the edge of the table with one leg folded and the other stretched to the floor.

Giles turned in his chair to face her.

“But the thing is, Faith knows better. No matter how much she might want to, she won’t do it. Not unless something forces her hand. Or I let her. I did what I did because it was eating her up inside.” She smiled. “Honestly, I deserved it. Give her a couple of days, she’ll get over it.”

Sizing Giles up, Buffy flicked ash and took another drag. It was nice to see that his feathers weren’t quite so ruffled. _I think he sees the sense. He has to know that’s how we relate._

“Now you wanna hear my offer?” she said with a snicker. “Or is there another corpse you’d like to pick?”

Giving Giles room had put his back to her. He moved around to the other side of his table before he answered, “There’s another matter I’d like to discuss, if you don’t mind.”

Buffy grinned and shook her head. _Of course there is._ She kept that to herself, opting for a more tactful, “Hey, knock yourself out,” instead. “We may as well settle this.” _I deserve points for that._

“What have you been feeding on?” he asked in a low, gruff tone.

When Jonathan reentered the room, Buffy put her finger up and asked, “Get that taken care of?”

Jonathan kept his distance, stopping to lean against one of the bookshelves near the door. “Yeah, pizza will be here in about half an hour,” he replied, adding a polite, “Am I interrupting something?”

Buffy glanced at Giles as she puffed on her cigarette. “Uh, not so much,” she replied. “Not unless Giles has a problem.”

Giles said, “No, certainly.”

It was a guess, but Buffy assumed that meant Giles was cool. It must’ve because Jonathan didn’t move.

Admitting the truth sucked, but she turned her attention to Giles and said, “Mostly what I can steal. I don’t like it, but—” This wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, but she didn’t have much of a choice. _Lying now wouldn’t be hard. But it’d be pretty damned pointless. All he has to do is open the fridge._

“As I suspected,” Giles replied in a dry voice. “Are you aware that there is a blood shortage? They’ve been calling for donors. People may die, despite your best efforts.”

“What?” Buffy exclaimed. “No way! We left lots.”

Giles dismissed her in turn. He sipped his cognac, regarding her with disdain. Finally, he asked, “What makes you think you even need human blood?”

 _Shit._

“Mostly starvation,” Buffy replied.

The answer was pretty blunt. Go figure, Giles didn’t take it well. His high horse grew an inch or two.

Buffy inhaled one last drag off her cigarette and put it out. “This isn’t something I want,” she explained. “I’ve tried it all. If I can even keep it down, it doesn’t help. I ran out of blood in L.A. and—well…after a couple of days the shakes were so bad. I almost killed this little old lady. It scared me.” She drained her glass. “Go figure, the change came with a dietary plan designed to seriously screw with me.”

As she got up to mix another drink, Giles replied, “Interesting. It must be the combination. At any rate, should our little arrangement continue, I will have to insist you find another way.”

 _It’s like I’m five. If memory serves, it wasn’t that long ago I was catching hell over not having a conscience. Now I have two. Fuck this._

Buffy poured just a little too much vodka into her glass. _Oops._ “I’ll get right on that, Giles,” she grumbled. “Right after I fix everything else that’s wrong in this godforsaken, little, backwater burg.” A splash of juice joined the mix. _It’ll be fine._ “Just keeping your slayer off a slab has been a full-time job.” She took a drink and marched back to her perch. “Now we can have another round of accusations and recriminations if you want, but I think we’ve just about beaten the subject to death.”

Giles offered, “My apologies.” The amazing thing was that he actually sounded sincere. “There are other places you might feed.”

Jonathan had this ‘I feel your pain’ kind of look on his face. He rolled his eyes and Buffy smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, I considered that,” she said and paused to take another drink. “It was a bad idea before last night. It may be looking better now that I’ve fired my staff. I’ve also—” Uncertain how Giles might take the idea, she stopped short. _I’ve about had it with the bickering._

“Go on,” Giles prompted, appearing interested. Before Buffy could protest, he added a hasty, “By ‘fired,’ I assume you mean ‘killed,’ correct?”

Buffy replied, “Yeah, I dusted about twenty vamps before bed this morning.” She leaned against the table and casually crossed her ankles. “The only one I kept was Dalton. He’s mostly harmless…and damned useful at times.”

Giles nodded. “And your other thought? Please continue.”

Buffy said with a shrug, “Not much.” Her eyes fixed on the floor at her feet. “It’s just that prostitutes sorta sell their bodies anyway. I might be able to make some kind of deal there. I’d rather help a victim than pay some suck house pimp.” Willow’s words ran through her mind, ‘Whore’ is just another way of saying ‘victim.’ _I might be able to do some good._ A hiss escaped, unchecked. _Listen to me. It’s kinda sad._ She collected her thoughts and went on, “I don’t know how viable it is. But maybe I could put them up until they recover. It’d give them some time off the streets. They’d have a good excuse for the disappearing act. And if they wanted better…”

“Perhaps I have judged you too harshly,” Giles said under his breath.

Buffy ignored him. “I’m just not sure where to start. Like I have time.” A fit of the giggles interrupted her. She took her face in hand and shared the funny. “Can you see me walking up to some working girl and saying, ‘Hi, my name’s Buffy. I’m a vampire. You wanna maybe go back to my place and, uh…?’ As pick up lines go, I’m thinking…”

Both men were grinning at her.

Mocking thoughtfulness, Jonathan commented, “That’s way better than, ‘Oh, I'm sorry, I thought that was a Braille name tag’.”

It was good to hear Giles chuckle. The tension in the room lightened. Amused by the badness, Buffy shook her head and smiled. _There may be hope._

“I should go,” Jonathan said. “I’ll bring you some pizza when it gets here, Giles.”

Giles thanked Jonathan as he left the room.

When he was gone, Buffy focused on Giles. “When’s your birthday?” she asked. _He’s gonna think I’m nuts. And he won’t be the only one._

 _Whatever. He’ll get over it. This is impetuous, I know, but I can’t think of another single thing that would actually work half as well. Something like this pretty much has to happen. And if I do it this way, I can do it on my terms._

After much mulling, Giles finally responded, “June the sixth.”

Buffy said with a shrug, “A little early, but it’ll do.” She took a sip of her drink. “You’re gonna think I’ve lost my mind, so I’m just gonna get this over with.” She smiled over the rim of her glass. “I want to give you this house.”

His reaction wasn’t that much different than what she imagined. _Yeah, pretty much fish face._

 _So, should I give him the ‘why,’ or let him cluck a little more?_

 _Well, the clucking is funny, but—_

“Look, Giles, before you start, let me clear this up for you.” She took the edge of the table in hand and leaned back casually against her other arm. “It’s like I said: I’ve got a house full of humans.” Buffy stretched. Just sitting around was killing her. “One of the things that humans have, that keeps them safe from the likes of me, is a place to retreat to.” She took a smoke from her pack and strode to the back wall. “It’s just a fact. There’s a built-in protection.”

Buffy paused to light up before casting a glance at Giles and turning between two of the shelves. There were plenty of places to get lost in the library and she did.

Her voice was barely a whisper, but she spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word. The sound resonated through the large room. “Faith has never had that. The only reason she’s survived all these years living in that fleabag motel is because I protected her. Every creep in this town knew that if they touched my slayer, I’d gut them.”

Giles didn’t get up. Buffy listened to the sound of his metered breathing and the faint thump of his heart. In her absence he had actually relaxed. She found that amusing. Smiling in the shadows, she murmured, “That protection isn’t gone, but as you might well imagine, I’m kinda out of favor with the ‘bump in the night’ crowd now. Someone may go after her for exactly the same reason they were leaving her alone before. And there’s the obvious.”

Buffy emerged from between the shelves behind him. Striding past where he sat, she flicked her ash into the ashtray and turned, arriving at her point, “Will says there’s no other way to make that happen without this. And it has to happen. We need to be able to sleep. We need a place to recover. A sanctuary, if you will.”

Giles appeared deeply thoughtful. _Good to see he’s firming up. Not that it wasn’t just a hoot to watch him wig._

 _As crazy as this sounds, there’s sense. He can’t deny it._

Buffy picked up her drink and swirled it as she said, “The only stipulation I have is that I want a lease for six months. If after six months this isn’t working, we’ll go our separate ways. Then you can do whatever you want with the house.”

 _C’mon, Giles…clock’s ticking…_

When Giles finally arrived at an answer, it wasn’t what Buffy wanted to hear. “I couldn’t possibly. I can’t take on a burden like this. Why, the financial—”

She cut him off, “I said ‘lease.’ Lease means rent, Giles. Let me handle the financial end.”

He met her gaze, replying with a blunt, “I’m not going to take your money.”

“It’s not my money,” Buffy replied with a laugh. Calming, she studied the watcher. There was a kind of noble arrogance to his manner. Guessing at what the problem might be, she said, “You’re actually worried about where it came from, aren’t you?”

Giles had a couple of really entertaining tells. He either fiddled with his suit or his glasses. Without the suit, there was only one thing left and he went straight for it.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Giles, it’s not like I slaughtered a busload of school kids for their inheritances,” Buffy explained through a snicker. “The money came from two places—two creatures who were just too damned old to be legit: Mayor Wilkins and Glorificus.” The expression on Giles’ face at the mention of the names was funny, but Buffy didn’t let that slow her down. “Between them, there was a vast fortune that no one owned. Everything was a fabrication, except the important part. Take something like that, add a computer hacker…and what you get—”

Giles was done fidgeting. Regarding her over his glass, he sipped his cognac.

Being studied by him didn’t set her back one bit. She smiled sweetly as she whispered, “It was almost too easy. And Will’s not even sure she got it all. It’s cool, though. She got enough.” _Enough to fund a private army. Maybe take over a small country. Buy an island. Elect a president._

 _The Mayor was small potatoes—it was enough for a start—but Glorificus, she was ancient. And loaded. Her little band of zealots weren’t thrilled, but what were they gonna do? They couldn’t even tell where the money went._

Giles returned his glass to the table.

 _It was beautiful. Not many can say they’ve sucked a god dry and bankrupted her cult._

“Now, if you have an issue with taking money from the likes of them—” Buffy didn’t even bother to finish her statement. There was no point. Giles got the picture.

“Regardless, I am fairly certain that I cannot accept your offer,” he replied.

“That’s bullshit,” she exclaimed.

“If you’d allow me to finish—” Giles interjected to no effect.

“In war you’d never have a problem liberating resources from an enemy. How’s this different?”

The moment she fell silent, he replied, “It isn’t. And if you’d let me finish, you’d find that the issue isn’t mine.” His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid that the council would never allow it. They would view this as a flagrant conflict of interest. It would throw my position as Faith’s watcher into question. I’m afraid that she would have the same problem. However, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to consult with Jonathan and Amy. Perhaps one of them would be willing. We’ll need time to discuss the proposition amongst ourselves.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Buffy said in a dry voice. “Will a day work?”

She was already stuffing her pockets when Giles said, “That should be satisfactory.”

She made a hasty exit, calling over her shoulder, “Night, Giles.” She stood waiting for the elevator as he returned the platitude.


	17. To Save Your Soul

Faith kicked her shoes off and curled up on the Victorian sofa. The idea of trying to get comfortable was laughable. She didn’t feel right about anything as she leaned against its rolled arm. Even something as basic as this seemed wrong. To her mind a sofa shouldn’t feel slippery, but the off-white, silky, brocade fabric was as slick as the pages of the magazine she might’ve expected to see it in.

That’s how this whole place was: like something from a magazine. The other half lived this way, in rooms with inlaid marble fireplaces, vaulted ceilings, pristine hardwood floors, flouncy draperies and chandeliers.

The only thing she did like about the room they’d stuck her in was the color of the walls. _But there isn’t much you can do to screw up blue. Maybe use some bright, scary-ass Crayola shit or something, but this ain’t that. It’s way darker._ Darker than she expected, with just a touch of gray. In a smaller room the color would’ve felt confining, but here it made all of the other, lighter stuff pop, giving the generous space a rich, luxurious look.

_Like I give a shit. It’s not like I’m picky. If I’ve got a roof over my head and clothes on my back, I’m good. I just don’t get why it had to be **this** roof and **these** clothes._

She looked down at the shirt she had on. Her lips curled with distaste. _Exactly who is Bunny? And why would I care if she has a dog walking service?_

_More importantly, what the hell are we doing here? I mean, I get what Giles was saying, we’re short on options, but—_

Amy gestured at Faith’s plate. “You should eat.”

Faith sighed. _I’d totally go for a lousy billet in a homeless shelter over satin sheets at the Fanged Four Seasons any day._ She picked up her glass of Coke from the end table and took a drink. _You’d think that one of my so-called ‘smart’ friends would know ‘If you lie down with dogs, you’re gonna get fleas.’_

_It’s sad. Spewing insightful anecdotes isn’t even my specialty, it’s theirs._

Commandant Madison wasn’t going to budge. The reproachful glances and scathing glares coming from the adjacent, tastefully-matching loveseat were past old.

Faith exchanged her glass for her plate, resting it on her lap. She took a bite of her pizza. It was like a piece of cardboard, coated in grease, slathered with ketchup and covered in a thin layer of rubberized cheese. _Yecch._ _The box might be better._

There was one good that came out of the whole nauseating exercise. Her attempt had satisfied Amy. Being out of the spotlight was a relief. Staying out of it would be better, so…

The crumble of mystery meat on the pizza was vaguely spicy and almost sausage-like, which easily made it the best thing about the pie. Faith picked at it, trying to avoid the cheese and everything else as she studied Amy. _I can’t get over how much she’s changed in such a short time. How long was it? Like maybe an hour or two?_ The bandage was missing from her nose, along with most of the puffiness around her eyes. She still had dark circles under them and some faint bruising, but the difference was like night and day.

The only explanation Faith could find was that it had something to do with Willow. Amy had spent a fair bit of time with her. Faith’s first thought was totally wrong. _Nah, she’s still breathing and her color’s too good._

_That, and she’s scarfin’ pizza like she hasn’t seen food in weeks. Vamps don’t do that. Least not that I’ve seen. I don’t think they can. Not without puking their guts up._

_But the only other thing I’ve got is that Willow somehow helped her. That’s crazy, totally out there, like something from another world. But I haven’t got anything better._

Amy swallowed a bite of pizza, put it down and went for her soda. Their eyes met as she took a drink. She set her glass down and wiped her mouth with a napkin before she spoke, “You should seriously give these people a chance. They may surprise you.”

“People?” Faith mocked. “Since when are they ‘people’?” Picking at the sausage was way too much work. She gave up on her pizza. _Shit’s nasty._ Her hands were gross. As she took a napkin from the pile, Amy stacked their plates.

“Look,” Amy said, “I know you don’t get this, but I’ve known Willow most of my life.”

Faith let out a bark of a laugh. She couldn’t help it. It just slipped out. And so did the truth. “The Willow you knew is dead.” She tossed the napkin on her plate and got up to wash her hands. “Clinically. No pulse, no breath, no temp, cold, flat, fucking **dead**. Period.” The view in the mirror was grim. Faith quickly directed her attention to the business at hand. Though, the fact that there was a mirror came as something of a surprise. She turned on the sink and pumped some soap into her palm to wash the orange grease away. “You want me to play nice with a couple of corpses? Sorry, that’s just not in my job description.” She finished up by splashing her face and toweling off.

As Faith returned to the room, the opposition capitulated. “You’re not wrong.”

The silence after lasted long enough for her to entertain the idea that she might actually be getting somewhere. That was just wishful thinking. When she got settled in back on the couch, Amy squashed her hopes like a bug.

“But you’re totally wrong. She’s more alive now than she’s been in years. Maybe in the whole time I’ve known her.”

Faith didn’t even know what to say. _No surprise._ _Hope doesn’t have much shelf life around me._ Of course, the head shake and eye roll just got her more grief from the witchy faction.

“Willow’s had a pretty crappy life. Not as crappy as some, but—”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Faith grumbled, unable hold it in.

Amy clammed up again. But that was just her mouth. She communicated her opinion adequately with a withering glare.

Faith clung stubbornly to her indignation.

That lasted until Amy took another shot. “Lemme guess, you think that because Willow’s mother didn’t O.D. before her fifteenth birthday that she doesn’t have a right?”

By taunt’s end, Faith was upright on the couch and stiff as a board. Her cheeks burned. She shouted through gritted teeth, “Unbe-fuckin-lievable! Why don’t you just mind your own fucking business? Leave me out of this shit!”

The underlying threat, the rage—none of it affected Amy. She stared Faith down and pressed her point, “Who appointed you judge?”

Faith’s skin crawled. She needed to get out of this room. Preferably _this house_. But with nowhere to go, leaving was pointless, if not downright unhealthy. That just made it worse. As she stared at the floral area rug, trying to get a grip, her head throbbed uselessly. It was a jumble of worthless mental flotsam, muzzy, heavy and way too warm. She somehow managed to keep her shit in check long enough for it to clear. Not throwing things was a real bonus; realizing that Amy might have a point wasn’t. But true enough, Faith had no clue how Willow had grown up. _God dammit! I hate it when she does that shit!_

As usual, she wasn’t even close to ready for Amy to continue when she did, “You know, I remember when Buffy came to town.” But Amy’s tone was pleasant enough. She rested her ankle on her thigh and untied her right tennis shoe as she spoke, giving her whole speech a ‘Mr. Rodgers’ kind of quality. “The first time I saw her was at The Bronze. No clue who she was.” She slipped her shoe off and put it down.

More of the tension eased, which made Faith feel a whole lot less like she was going to come apart at the seams. She kicked back on the couch and resigned herself to just listen. _I’ve had my fill of little bullshit squabbles for the night. Unless B. wants me to deck her again, I’m done. I could really go for that._

Amy moved to her other shoe. “It was the end of the standard Sunnydale spring cycle. You know the routine: things get bad, then they get better. Same as now, only back then none of us really understood why. We saw stuff, of course, but no one believed it. Believing would’ve been crazy, so we made up excuses like everyone else.”

When Amy stopped for a drink of her soda, Faith picked up the pack of cigarettes she’d kiped. She stared at the name ‘Nat Sherman’ printed in white and gold on the green cardstock. _‘New York.’ Figures the snobby bitch would just have to have designer cigarettes too. These things are like smoking a mint toothpick. I’d kill for a Marlboro._

“Like I said, I knew Willow. She wasn’t exactly a friend then, but…”

When Amy fell silent, Faith was compelled to check. Judging from the clues—theme, tone and scowl—it wasn’t hard to guess that there might be some regret.

Faith removed one of the smokes from the box and placed it between her lips. It felt off somehow. As she crossed the room to the fireplace to snag one of the long matches to light up, Amy found her voice again.

“Standard high school clique stuff. Her circle wasn’t my circle. She didn’t really have a circle.”

Faith opened the fireplace door and pitched the match inside.

“It was the same for her at home. We used to hang out a little in junior high. She did everything she could to get her parent’s attention, but nothing was ever good enough.”

None of this really meant anything to Faith, but she was cool with it. After the day she’d had, the bar was set pretty low. Just the lack of bitching was enough. That, and no one had taken a swing at her in recent memory. _Total win._ She returned to her seat in relative peace.

“When Buffy showed up that night at the Bronze, it was like something from a movie. The outcast scores with the homecoming queen.” That sounded like the sort of line that should’ve been delivered with smile. No surprise, it wasn’t, but Amy did let out a dry snicker before she went on, “I had no clue Willow was gay—shocked the hell out of me—but it was all there: the entire pantomime, body language, casual touches, significant looks…” She sighed. “That was Buffy. Poor Willow was a total spaz. I knew something was wrong. I even considered stepping in, but I didn’t have the heart. It was easier to tell myself it wasn’t any of my business.”

A brief lull in the story caused Faith to stir. She’d been mindlessly smoking her cigarette and it was time to start looking for an ashtray. She began to scan the room as Amy picked up.

“Besides, there was a possibility I was reading it wrong. Willow was always pretty. But back then it was more like she was cute in a geeky, awkward, mousy kind of way. Some people are into that. It could’ve been a shot at something real, some kind of happiness. I sure wasn’t going to blow that for her. Y’know how rare those are.”

One bastard of a headache was brewing behind Faith’s eyes. She halted her search to rub them, lingering to pinch the bridge of her nose, then she stood up. There were two small lead crystal dishes on the dresser with candles in them that looked like they’d work short of anything else, and she sure didn’t see anything.

The pizza smell was making her stomach turn flip-flops. As she turned to snag their dinner plates, Amy stated the obvious, “I should’ve followed my instincts.”

Faith shook her head and started across the room. The action and motion made her queasier, but she toughed it out.

“Too good to be true normally is—” an anemic hiss of a snicker cut into Amy’s shtick “—especially in this godforsaken town.”

Faith ditched the plates and took what she wanted, leaving the candle behind. A book of matches was a bonus score. _The history lesson’s fun and all, but I wish she’d get to the point, if she even has one._

“I was a little surprised to see her the next day at school. And boy, was she ever one smitten kitten. Totally in love, or lust, or whatever. It was pretty funny for awhile.”

“I can guess where the ‘not funny’ came in,” Faith replied. _It’s time for that drink._ She deposited her makeshift ashtray on the end table, picked up her glass and made for the door. “Can we finish this…?”

“Oh, uh, yeah…I’ll come with,” Amy said with a shrug. She got up and followed Faith from the room.

As they strode to the elevator together, Amy went on, “It didn’t take long for the ‘not funny.’ Girls started disappearing. Specific girls: Cordy, the campus queen; Harmony, her faithful minion; and the rest of the popular girls. As they went, one at a time, Willow got mean.”

Faith pressed the down arrow and leaned against the wall. Her shoulders had barely made contact when the elevator doors slid open. She rolled her eyes, stood up and stepped inside, hitting the button for the first floor. Her attention fixed on the red carpet beneath her feet. It was either that or stare at herself in the mirrored doors and that wasn’t going to happen.

“It should’ve been obvious, but it took a while for me to put it together,” Amy said as the elevator bobbled into its decent. “It wasn’t until the bodies started turning up, drained of blood, that the truth sunk in. They found them one piece at a time, wrapped up really neat like meat from a butcher. It made I.D.ing them take forever. The cops thought they had a serial killer, so, of course, things got worse for us again. For all of us except Willow. She didn’t seem to care. You’d think they’d clue, but the cops in this town are like Barney Fife’s retarded cousins.”

The doors opened and Faith didn’t waste any time getting to where she was going.

Amy was even bright enough not to get run over. She kept up okay, remarking as they went, “Anyway, you know how that turned out.”

_‘Monumentally bad’ is the first thing that comes to mind._

Faith was looking over what was basically an alcoholic’s wet dream when Amy arrived at her point, or so she claimed. “Point is, this started with Willow in love. My guess is, Buffy and her newly rediscovered soul are reacting to that.”

 _Black label, square bottle…hello Jack._ Her favorite poison in hand, she juggled the bottle, glass and cigarette like a seasoned pro, topping her glass off and taking a swig as she listened. It was a little weak, so she drank it down and added some more.

Amy giggled. This one was actually real, not some hollow mockery. “I think they’re falling in love. Strange as it sounds, I can’t think of a better reason for what’s happening with them. The capacity for love is one of those uniquely human qualities.”

Faith’s cigarette hung from her lips. Glass in one hand and bottle in the other, she motioned for Amy to follow. Of course, she just couldn’t resist poking fun as they retraced their steps, “So, that’s the deal?” She chuckled. “Vampires in love? You know it doesn’t get much more cliché, right?”

Amy replied, “Cliché?” reaching out to tap the button. The elevator doors opened. She led the way, taking care of the button pushing as she provided color commentary, “Well, maybe…but a more human Buffy—that’s totally good for us and anything else with a pulse in this shithole.”

The elevator stopped. Amy took point this time. She had the free hands and card to get in their room.

Ashes fell from Faith’s smoke as she replied, “I won’t argue that. But I’m still not sure I buy it.” It was getting short enough that she had to hold her head at a weird angle to keep the smoke from going up her nose. _She’s seriously putting a damper on my grudge. Annoying shit._

Amy didn’t speak again until they were back in the room. “Buffy seems pretty confused. But it’s not like she’d have a ton of experience. She was turned really young, so she’s gonna be pretty emotionally immature.” She settled into her spot. “I don’t have any reason to believe that the soul would age outside the host. In fact, it seems unlikely that it would.”

Faith went to the couch, depositing the bottle on the end table.

As she crushed her cigarette out and took a seat, Amy said, “Think about it, Faith. Consider what you’ve seen. These aren’t the same people.” She had one of those sappy, girly smiles going on. It was pretty gag-worthy. “They’re in love. And it’s changing everything.”

  


* * *

  


A faint click issued from the lock. Willow cautiously opened the door, peeking through the gap to check before she entered the room. Her attention came to rest on the Buffy-shaped lump in the bed as the door swung shut, leaving them in inky darkness. _I’m glad she’s getting some rest. She needs it._ The smile that lighted her face quickly faded. _And so do I._ Smiling was exhausting with all that tugging and stretching.

After a brief pause to allow her eyes to adjust, she took half a dozen steps in and stopped to drop her key card on the end table. With her hands free, she got down to the arduous, troublesome business of undressing. The very thing that attracted her to this dress was the thing that vexed her now: it wrapped around and fastened with a series of pearl buttons, like beads that ran down her side. They were pretty, but they were also god-awful awkward to deal with. The few times she’d worn the silly thing, she’d used magic, but right now she was too pooped to poof, so she sat down and fumbled at them with clumsy fingers, wrestling with the urge to just grab hold and tear.

Even sitting was a chore. The numbness in her nether region had faded a while ago. It hadn’t occurred to her that that might happen, but now that it had, it made perfect sense. The nerve bundles were bound to eventually get over-stimulated. Mostly the discomfort was of the non-horrible variety, dull, achy, and nagging. But every once in a while she’d move the wrong way and the pain would sharpen.

Another unforeseen side effect of her evil unmentionables was that they didn’t breathe. The flesh between her legs felt pickled and raw. And all of the pulling, poking and prodding was decidedly unsexy, not to mention uncomfortable. This was like the definitive cure for nymphomania. She couldn’t even imagine being touched now. Putting pressure on those parts was just short of agony. She slid to the edge of the couch, shifting most of her weight to her legs.

She was ready to beg for release…and not the kind of release she’d hoped to ever have to beg for. _The potential promise of more severe ouchiness is the least of my worries._

_Well, maybe not **the least** , but putting an end to this means waking Buffy and I’d rather—umm…_

She tried to come up with something funny that she’d rather do—something in the neighborhood of ‘honey and anthills’—something just to amuse herself. No surprise, her befuddled brain drew a complete blank. All that she could think of was how she’d eventually have to admit to her stupidity. Buffy’s reaction to that would be anything but funny. Considering either of those things made her think that she could tough it out a little bit longer.

Of course, all of this made the prospect of sleep laughable, but she had to at least try to rest. _Tomorrow’s going to be a treat. If I don’t get some sleep, I’m gonna be…_

As Willow stood and wiggled out of her dress, she decided that she’d leave the decision to Buffy. _I’ll be forced to deal if I’m clumsy getting into bed, otherwise…_

_Yeah, who am I kidding? She’s gonna wake up._

She draped her dress over the back of the couch. Taking off her slip would only draw attention to other things she couldn’t take off. She wasn’t sure what to do. _What would be less—?_

_Well, there’s a slight chance that Buffy will be so groggy that she won’t notice, even if she does wake up. Last time I saw her she was working on polishing off a fifth of vodka. Not that that means anything. I’ve seen her drink two in one sitting and not slur a single word. I don’t think she gets drunk._

_Yeah, she’s gonna wake up, no matter how sneaky I am, which means she’ll notice. Unless she doesn’t because I—_

_No, Buffy doesn’t miss much. She’s going to notice. The only way she won’t is if—_

_I’m overthinking this._

She sat down. _My shoes have to come off. I’ll start here._ Leaning down sent a jolt of sharp pain through her tender parts. She winced. A whimper slipped out, unchecked, causing Buffy to stir. Willow froze as the covers moved and the bed sloshed, but all Buffy did was roll over and harrumph.

Another moment or two passed by. Willow did her best impression of a statue. Finally she worked up the nerve to look down at her hands. They were shaking. That made unbuckling her shoes all the more fun and her statue impression seem somewhat flawed. She balled her fists and flexed her fingers, giving them a good wiggle, but her hands still refused to cooperate.  

The absence of a pounding, fluttery heart running rabbit in her chest struck her. She mostly didn’t notice it, but in moments like this, when the rest of her was an utter wreck—all pasty mouthed and twitchy—the hollow spot amplified everything else that was wrong. She searched for something inane to take her mind off the impending turmoil. There wasn’t much. _I wish I could ask her about Dalton without having to deal with anything else. I can’t work with someone who just hides in the back of his cell._

_But to ask her, I’d have to wake her and—uh, yeah, umm…avoiding that in a big way. It’ll keep till morning. This will all keep till morning. I’m fine really. Everything will be better when I lay down._

Her shoes dropped one at a time to the floor. She took them by the straps and slid them under the couch so that no one would trip, especially her. The final thing to go was her hosiery. There was just no way she could sleep with them on.

None of that had been pleasant. She was officially done. She got up and tiptoed to the bed, carefully settling onto its edge. The rail wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sit on in the first place. It was just plain ouchy now.

When she twisted to peel back the covers, a wave undulated through the waveless mattress, which translated to lots of movement all at once. Too much. She didn’t quite manage to gasp before Buffy’s hand clamped over her right wrist. Her arm pulled tight. She skated over the rumpled blankets toward the headboard.

A cold steel edge struck her right wrist with a sharp clack. Her left arm was wrenched up. The sound was unmistakable: handcuffs. The second cuff ratcheted closed around her wrist.

Buffy pounced, straddling her. She held something between her fingers. It was so close to Willow’s face that all she saw was a blurry, black blob.

Being overpowered by Buffy was becoming a thing. Willow wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or turned on until Buffy asked, “I have to use this, don’t I?” The malevolence that grated her soft voice pretty much told the tale.

Willow clamped her eyes shut as she gulped for breath. When she opened them, the object came into focus. It was the lipstick case. Wide-eyed, she nodded.

“Pleasure or pain’s what you said,” Buffy whispered.

Willow nodded again, profusely this time. The thought of more pain made her tense, causing the handcuffs to bite into her wrists. _Oh boy. So much for putting this off._

The lipstick tube moved out of view. A pop near her tummy drew her attention. Just how hard she was shaking became plain.

Buffy stared at the open tube for what seemed like a lifetime before she spoke, “That’s not really—” A knock at the door cut her off. She turned to glare over her shoulder. “—a choice.”

Willow felt compelled to look at the door too. Exactly why, she wasn’t sure. It was still just a door. But what on the other side might mean a reprieve, or things were about to get a whole lot worse.  

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Buffy snapped. “They’re worse than minions.” Judging by her tone, they weren’t going to get any better. Another knock came, this one fainter. “At least they had the good sense to be scared,” she grumbled as she bounded out of bed. “This better be life threatening.” She went to the closet and opened it. “Or I’ll make it.”

Willow glanced at her wrists, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. Both seemed appropriate. She tilted her head, resting it on her arm so she could watch _. What did she mean ‘that’s not a choice’? Looks like a great big, scary, honkin’ choice from where I lay._

Buffy emerged from the closet wearing her robe. Moments later Amy’s sheepish voice drifted in from the hallway. “Would you happen to have a small pair of scissors?” There was brief ‘huh’ moment on Buffy’s part before Amy filled in, “I’d like to remove Faith’s stitches. They’re really bugging her.”

The attitude was completely gone when Buffy stammered, “Oh. Yeah, sure, I think, uh…I mean… _gimme_ a minute.” She shut the door. Her hand lingered there for a moment as she hung her head and shook it. Then she went to the bathroom. From the barrage of clattering, thumping and cursing, Willow guessed that whatever she was looking for must be underneath the vanity. Perhaps even under the floor under the vanity. Eventually, Buffy emerged holding a small, zippered leather wallet not much bigger than her hand.

Laughter won out. This was just too absurd not to. Willow’s whole body shook with the giggles. She bit her lip to stop when Buffy opened the door.

“Best I have.”

Amy accepted the case and unzipped it. “Ah, that’s perfect,” she replied, sounding all too chipper. “Thanks.”

Buffy didn’t move. Willow couldn’t imagine what the holdup might be. Not that she was in a hurry, but this was getting a little weird. _What are they doing, making faces at each other?_ Her brow furrowed. _No telling._ _Probably._

The idea of calling for help crossed her mind. She amused herself by projecting the outcome. None of the scenarios ended well for her. _Yeah, profoundly bad idea._ _Something tells me Buffy wouldn’t find that the least bit funny._ Imagining Amy’s reaction killed a little more time and put a big old, severely-inappropriate grin on Willow’s face.

“How is she, anyway?” Buffy asked after much awkward silence.

Without hesitation, Amy replied, “Better.” The smile came through in her voice when she added, “Lots better, actually.”

_Well, that’s nice to hear. Uh, I think…_

_Dammit, you two! Y’think maybe we could put an end to social hour? It’s fun and all, but—_

Buffy nodded and started to close the door as Amy said, “Good night.”

The door was a little over midway closed when Buffy stopped it and peeked through the gap to mutter, “Yeah, night.”

The click that issued from the door’s latch gave Willow a serious case of the ‘now, where were we?’ jitters. _I was kidding. Talk all night. Don’t mind me. I’ll just lay here and—uh… **lay here**. _ But it was too late. She’d already cursed herself.

Between the time Buffy entered the closet to put her robe away and when she reemerged, a major mood swing took place. She asked, “Do you remember last night at all?” as she crossed the room at a leisurely pace.

“Yeah?” Hearing the small, snively sound of her own voice made Willow cringe.

Buffy held up the lipstick case. “I thought we had an agreement?”

The question seemed to be rhetorical. Willow was grateful for that. The thought of listening to herself simper again  curdled her tummy.

Time was running out. Buffy was closing in. She crawled over the footboard, clutching the lipstick case in the palm of her hand. Willow actually entertained the idea of using magic to remove the handcuffs. That lasted about three-point-two seconds. The expression on Buffy’s face told her it was the worst idea ever. _Maybe even worse than calling for help._

“I can’t hurt you like that,” Buffy whispered. “I won’t. You should know that.” Willow spread her legs, allowing Buffy to crawl between them. “So, what you left me with is ‘pleasure.’ That’s not exactly a choice.”

It was just too much. As the weight lifted, Willow’s brain forfeited control. Her body took over, reacting to the sights, sensations and smells. The ache between her legs dulled, replaced by a happy, wanton hum. Buffy crawled ever closer. The only contact was the tips of her hair. It draped around her face, brushing Willow’s stomach and chest. Even through her slip, the sensation sent shivers down her spine. By the time Buffy had finished her ascent, Willow was a bundle of need. She longed for a kiss that didn’t come.

Buffy held still, peering into her eyes. Several moments drifted languidly past before she sat up in the space between Willow’s thighs. She opened her hand. Her attention focused on the lipstick case, she reflected, “The lack of any real choice can only mean one thing: you made the choice for me.” Her hand folded over the slender black tube. She seized the front of Willow’s slip.

A tingle rippled between Willow’s legs. Warm and prickly, it made her gasp. As the pulses grew stronger, Buffy jerked. Willow’s slip tore open. Her back arched. She closed her eyes and groaned.

The tips of Buffy’s fingers came to rest between her breasts. Slowly, they trailed down, drifting over Willow’s bare skin. The small of her back twitched. Tingling spasms flowed through her. The ache returned, but it was different this time. Her creation toyed with her. Perfect, but not enough. She hung on the edge, desperate for more. Just a little more. She bit her lip to stifle a plea.

When Buffy’s hand reached the garter belt, all of the warm wonderful, fuzzy-wuzzy sensations ended in a faint cracking sounded.

It took Willow a moment to register what had happened. Her body relaxed, sagging onto the bed. She opened her eyes.

Buffy knelt between her legs. The look of cool indifference on her face made Willow feel like a fool.

The feeling deepened when Buffy said, “It wasn’t your choice to make.” Through the thick haze of lingering desire the words stung. Buffy reached back. The fragments of the lipstick case clattered as they hit the wooden floor. She leaned forward. Her hand came to rest over the thong. “The games have to end,” she whispered. Her fingers slid between satin and skin. “I can’t take it.” She pulled.

Willow gasped as the thong peeled away. Her eyes snapped shut. She clenched her jaw. The tendrils slid out. Drawing tight over her hips, the fabric ripped. She scraped for control.

“If this is what you need…” Buffy’s statement was punctuated by penetration.

A moan slipped unbidden past Willow’s lips. From the sound, one might’ve guessed that this was the best thing ever. It wasn’t. She was hopelessly sore. The pressure was painful. Tender skin stretched with each tentative movement. As Willow angled her hips in hopes of changing that, Buffy went for the one part that actually would. Whether it was instinctual or not, Willow wasn’t sure. How much could Buffy possibly know about sex after all?

She obviously knew enough. Her left palm cupped the patch of wiry curls while her thumb extended down, its pad tracing languid circles in sensitive flesh. Each gentle stroke of her right hand was accompanied by a swirling motion. With each repetition, a weight was added to the scales. Willow trembled as they tipped.

Buffy stilled. Her left hand lifted. She used it to steady herself. Her fingers shifted as she rose, settling in atop Willow. Their breasts crushed together. Buffy’s arm lay trapped between them. Though deft, the movements caused Willow to twitch. Buffy held still, allowing her time to recover.

Willow opened her eyes. No trace of anger remained in Buffy expression. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light that trickled in through the cracks in the curtains.

_So beautiful._

This was perfect in every way. Even the things that might’ve been less than perfect, the handcuffs and her torn clothes, they just added to the moment.

_She loves me._

Any lingering hurt vanished when Buffy’s lips brushed hers. Willow’s eyes drifted shut. Her legs wrapped around Buffy’s, willing their bodies closer.

Buffy snaked her free hand beneath Willow’s back, crossing side to opposite shoulder before she took hold. Her muscles tensed, plunging her fingers deeper.

The jolt sent waves of raw pleasure swelling through Willow’s body. In their wake, warmth washed over her, but the pit of her stomach grew cold. She didn’t understand why. It made no sense. This was everything she’d ever dreamt of.

Buffy’s lips caressed hers. Willow mirrored each action. Their tongues entwined. Firm, wet and sweet, they stroked.

Another thrust came. The sharp movement caused them both to tremble. Buffy ground her hips, sending muffled vibrations to Willow’s core.

Willow was breathless and terrified. Completely consumed by the former and confused by the later, she broke the kiss. Buffy rested her forehead against the pillow. She nuzzled Willow’s throat.

The word “no,” crossed Willow’s lips. It sounded like a croak.

Buffy tensed again, harder than before. Her hips rolled, crushing against Willow, making every nerve ending ache for release. It felt so wonderful. Willow just reacted. No reason. No thought. Her hips tilted up, urging Buffy on. Her vision spotted with poofy little bursts of white.

Something inside her snapped. She cried out, begging, imploring for Buffy to stop. “Oh God,” was perfectly plain. A breathy impassioned plea that resonated with Willow’s gasp. Her voice gave out. Sounding thick and broken, “Please, no,” was lost. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. One more thrust and Willow reclaimed her voice. She shouted, “No!” Far more forceful than she planned, the crisp sound cut through the air.

Buffy jerked, lifting her head. Passion clouded her eyes. They blinked, and then went wide. She slipped away, coming to a rest sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hand and her back to Willow.

The retreat was painful for Willow to watch. She longed to get up. What she was going to do when she got there was a complete mystery. Part of her wanted to comfort Buffy, but she wanted to run too. The compulsion was right there along with the fear. Her body was a bundle of battered nerves, but her mind was clear enough. She tried to reason out what had happened as tears dribbled down her cheeks. Her hair stuck to the side of her face. It was itchy. Annoyed, she rubbed it away with her arm.

The bed shuddered. Willow looked over. A strip of pale light cast across Buffy’s back, illuminating the scars. The shuddering was her. She was weeping too.

Willow felt herself sinking. _What did I do? She was touching me and she wasn’t afraid._

The need to run was gone. She wanted so badly to hold Buffy, to tell her it’d be okay, to explain, like she even could. Her voice cracked pathetically when she tried. All she managed to say was, “I’m sorry.” Annoyed by the pitiful sound, she drew in a thick, salty breath and tried again. “I’m _so_ sorry. I just can’t.”

Buffy turned to look. Her face was streaked with tears.

Willow’s wrists throbbed. She took hold of the headboard to relieve the tension.

Buffy stared for a moment before she perked up. Willow could almost see the process. ‘Oh yeah, I was supposed to do that.’ It was just too cute. Her reaction was probably the most inappropriate thing ever, but she couldn’t help grinning as Buffy located the key on the nightstand. Willow’s grin faded when Buffy turned to unlock the handcuffs.

That tiny moment of clarity did it. Willow understood. This was where she belonged. She’d instinctively heeded Whistler’s warning because she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize this. She basked in the glow of what they had and what it meant to her. But when she tried to touch Buffy, she shied away, reaching for her cigarettes.

Willow cleared her throat. She had to say something. “I can’t go back,” she admitted. “I can’t bear it.” It hurt to talk, but a little discomfort was the least of her concerns. “Don’t you see? I don’t want to be that thing again—” She stood to strip off her tattered clothing. “—that thing that didn’t love you. That thing that was just obsessed. I need you, but we have to wait. I can’t take the chance.” She collected all of the scraps, wadded them up and took them to the trash.

Buffy whispered, “You don’t understand at all do you?” Her voice was so soft that Willow almost didn’t hear. She strained to listen. Buffy puffed on her cigarette, murmuring through the smoke, “Watch you tremble. Hear you sigh and beg me for more. Watch every muscle in your body tense with pleasure. Listen to you cry out. And know I made you feel so good.”

That was so close to what she’d said the night before Willow wondered if Buffy was making fun of her. And she was pretty sure she knew what was what. She couldn’t think of another single thing that would keep her from wanting that. Only the thought of losing it.

She returned to the bed as Buffy took another drag. “Real happiness?” she mocked through a snicker. “This isn’t that. Nothing’s changed. There’s no magic cure.” Willow sat down beside her and Buffy flicked her ash. It was a wonder she didn’t break her cigarette. She hissed, “I need—” tapping her finger to her chest “—I want—” again, much harder this time “—I feel.” The final stab was painful to watch. “But I can barely stand any of this.”

Willow winced. The idea that something so special—or something that was _supposed to be_ special—was actually that one-sided left her feeling wounded again.

Still whispering, Buffy stood up and walked away, “I hear them, like phantoms just beneath the surface. The only thing holding it together for me is control. If I have it, I can deal. If I don’t…”

It was obvious this was hard for Buffy. The trauma was right there, written all over her skin. Having forgotten that for even a moment made Willow feel stupid too.

“It’ll get better,” she replied. “We both just need time.” That was the first thing that popped into her head, but the words were placating. They sounded empty even to her. With nothing better to offer, she stretched out on the bed and shut her eyes. _I wish I believed that._

Silence hung thick in the room. She reached down and drew the blankets up, wishing that Buffy was holding her. That wasn’t going to happen, so she made herself relax. Her body grew heavy and distant. She drifted off to that place just on the edge of sleep.

Buffy’s soft, delicate voice drifted through the haze, “It’s been eleven days since that spell.” Willow was so conked she wasn’t sure if it was a dream at first. “It feels like a lifetime…like I slid down the rabbit’s hole.” But as the veil of sleep lifted, Buffy continued to speak. “It’s totally crazy how much life can change.” She was drawing nearer. “Choose the red pill, find the truth.”

Willow’s eyes fluttered open. She turned toward the sound.

Buffy stood next to the bed, looking down with a subtle smile on her face. She whispered, “Or did it choose me?”

Willow wasn’t sure what had transpired, but something had obviously changed. She pulled the covers back, inviting Buffy to join her. If there was anything left to forgive, it was forgotten. Buffy’s expression made that perfectly plain. She climbed into bed.

Attentive of her touch, Willow nestled in beside her. She shut her eyes. The hand that rested on the small of her back moved, making gentle, languid passes over her skin. Contented, she sighed.

Buffy whispered, “We’ll work this out. We have to.”

“I know,” Willow replied. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that they wouldn’t. Nevertheless, it was good to hear.

Buffy’s lips brushed her forehead.

A soft, sleepy grin warmed Willow’s face.

“I love you,” Buffy whispered.

  _I know._


	18. The Vanity of Foresight

Muffled by layers of plaster and timber, Willow cried out, “Oh God!” The dead little witch followed up with something that might’ve been ‘please.’ She was panting so hard, it was impossible to tell.

_Well, alright, B. At least someone in this hell’s getting lucky. It sure ain’t me. Luck and me…we’re not exactly fast friends._

Another cry broke the silence. “No!” This one was so loud it caused Amy to jerk in her sleep.

Faith shut her eyes, remembering. An attractive, older woman with long dark-hair got into a cab. She was dressed for a night on the town. This was one of those memories. So vivid, Faith could almost reach out and touch her. So seemingly harmless, if it was possible to show the image to anyone else, they’d just look at it and shrug. _They might think she was pretty. People always thought that._ The woman glanced over her shoulder, out the back window of the car. _It felt like she knew. Like she had to have one last look._

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I remember,” Faith grumbled under her breath. _Red even sounds a little like my mother. Déjà vu’s a bitch._

She hadn’t meant to say anything. It seriously threw her when Amy rolled over and asked, “What?”

_Shit._

Faith mumbled, “Nothing,” in the slim hope that Amy might let it go. _Last thing I need is another lecture._ A sigh slipped out as she turned her head. The room was dark, but she could just make out Amy’s face. Her friend looked genuinely curious. _I’m screwed._

_Can we just let it go? I mean, she already knows this shit. Or if she doesn’t, it wouldn’t take much for her to figure it out. She should get that my mom was just the same. She was ‘oh so in love’ too. The rub: Mom had a knack for attracting the wrong type of guys. Really wrong. The sort of guys who’d jack you up on smack and sell you to their friends. Doesn’t get much wronger than that. There’s nothing left to tell. The call came a few days later. End of story._

Amy’s curiosity turned to downright crankiness as the moments crept by. _Yeah, this is gonna be another one of those._

_Let me tell you how I feel about my mother._

Faith rolled her eyes. “Love,” she grumbled. The word came out like a curse. _I need to get a grip. Maybe I should get blind drunk on Johnnie Walker Black again. Keep with tradition._ She cleared her throat to take the edge off. “I like my way better.”

“What way’s that?” Amy asked.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake, just gimme a blindfold and a smoke._

Faith directed her attention to the ceiling to avoid the visual dissection. _I could always lie my ass off. Maybe start dotting my ‘I’s with little hearts too. Screw it._ “Love’s a bitch.” She imagined the expression on Amy’s face and snickered. “Anything over the thirty seconds it takes to show the dick-du-jour the door is more commitment than I need.”

Amy’s laugh sounded genuine enough, but when she spoke, her tone was thick with disappointment, “That’s just like you.”

The mood swing threw Faith. She blurted out, “Of course it’s _like_ me. It _is_ me.” She was already kicking herself before she finished. Amy was baiting her and she was playing the dupe to a tee…a role that didn’t sit well with Faith. Stalling by taking in a long, deep breath wasn’t a bad ploy. Other than that it made it her look like she was struggling to keep her cool. It was useless. _Complete fucking waste. Just like me._ “Look, Amy, you may need something else, but I don’t know how to be anything else.” She pulled her hands from under the blanket and rubbed her eyes. “If I’m such a disappointment, maybe you should find someone who isn’t.” _I don’t know what she expects. She goes on about love. But that was one scream shy of rape. Maybe I’m just missing—_

“No,” Amy replied. “I’m not letting you off that easy.” The bed shuddered as she sat up and turned.

_Of course you aren’t._

Faith shut her eyes. The shit was about to hit the fan. _Maybe I should take the hint and get gone. It’d be easier on both of us._

When she started to rise, Faith got a hand in the center of her chest and a lecture for her trouble. “You make it sound like you think that anyone who makes a commitment to someone else is stupid. Yet you’re obviously committed to me, Jonathan, Giles…not to mention every warm blooded—”

Faith managed to force a word in edge-wise, “That’s not the same,” but not without raising her voice.

Another laugh—this one mocking—made her seriously entertain violence. And the impulse only got worse with the examination that followed.

“Unbelievable,” Amy exclaimed. “You’re scared. Something about this really struck a nerve.”

Faith clenched her fists, choking back the urge to shout. _About what? I’ve got nothing. She nailed it. See what I get for letting someone in?_

Before she managed to get her shit together enough to sit up, let alone storm out of the room, Amy went on, “You’re condemning something you don’t even understand.”

“Christ! We’ve been at this all night!” Faith snapped. “Every time I feel like I might get some peace…” Frustration laid waste to the rest of her statement. She sat up and turned to glare at Amy.

Of course, it had no effect. “Willow and I talked,” Amy said. “She asked me for help. Here’s some irony for you…” Her tone was so neutral it was infuriating. And the dramatic pause, though brief, sure didn’t help. “They’ve started to dig out—made some real progress—and the instrument of change is also the one thing that could tear it all down. Whistler told Willow that loving Buffy could cost her her soul.”

_You’ve gotta be kidding me? More drama from Camp Vamp? That’s exactly what we need._

“She’s terrified,” Amy said. “She didn’t say that, but she didn’t have to. It was easy enough to see.”

Faith wanted to blow off the whole steaming pile.

And she would’ve if Amy hadn’t continued to run her mouth, “She asked me to help.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Not just for her. She needs to understand how it works because she wants to ensoul them all.”

That took the wind right out of Faith’s sails. She wasn’t sure what to think. “All?” she stammered, feeling screwed by circumstance and every other goddamn thing. She let out a hiss that amounted to more of a tsk or a tut—a verbal tick that—while meaningless—pretty much summed things up. _Christ. I’m actually considering this crap._

“All,” Amy confirmed. “If anyone can, it’s her. She made them.”

The tension between them trickled away. _Is it really messed up that I think that’s good news?_

_Oh, **yeah.** Shit just doesn’t get more twisted than this. But that doesn’t mean I don’t buy it. I’m not even sure why I buy it.  _

_Alright, whatever, fuck it. They get a chance. Just one. They screw up, it’s over._

_Now there’s the understatement of the century._

Amy combed her hair back with her fingers and made a fist. It didn’t look quite painful. Almost, not quite. “She’s got Dalton looking at reversing the spell, but that seems pretty unlikely. Magic just doesn’t work that way. You don’t get a do-over when you screw up.” She let her hair fall. “You get consequences.” There was something kind of manic about the smile on her face. It didn’t fit that last thing. But as she explained, her expression made sense, “Consider the consequences for just a sec. You said twenty-five, maybe thirty. Imagine what that might mean for us if we could reacquaint them with their humanity.”

_Huh. Well, getting them to toe the line might be a blast—but ‘Adventures in Babysitting the Terminator’ aside—it could mean we’d have a fighting chance for the first time in like—ever._

Faith took the slack as a cue to lay back down. The bed felt good, but what Amy said next sure as hell didn’t. “Now let’s get back to you.” It was cringe-worthy. And the fact that she remained sitting…

Faith shook her head and offered the best defense she had. “I managed to find something here I was pretty sure I’d never have. Doesn’t matter what happens. I won’t risk that.”

“Y’know, it’s funny, you’ve got this serious beef with Buffy,” Amy said, pausing to let out a snicker. “Trust me, I get it. But it’s pretty sad when a vampire shows more courage…” she stood up “…and more heart than the goddamn slayer.”

Faith shut her eyes. _That depends on how you define courage. In my book, going up against something when you know you just can’t win isn’t courage. Choosing that, if you have options…_

_She can say what she wants. Whatever. Momma might’ve done a lot of things, but she didn’t raise no dummy._

Amy moved away from the bed. The closet door opened. When she emerged, the sermon continued, “I get that you’ve been burned, but you seriously need to get over it.” She took a seat on the couch and shook out what could only be a blanket. “It’s a shame really. You close yourself off like that, who knows what you might miss.”

  


* * *

  


_First impression: something’s missing._

_I think it might be my mind._

Buffy hadn’t moved an inch since she went to sleep. Now there was this gaping hole. The weight on her shoulder was gone. Her arms felt empty.

_We’re on the fourth night of this demented little social experiment. I wake up alone and—no slack—immediately start pining._

_When did this bed get so big?_

She cracked her eyes and looked around the room. Bright sunlight filtered in through the breaks in the drapes.

_Clueless. Probably about the same time I started quoting eighties pop songs like they might be profound._

_It’s not like it’s been a year, a month or even a week. And lest we forget how much fun this wasn’t…those first few nights I would’ve given almost anything to be somewhere else._

She inhaled a long, deep breath. A faint hint of Willow permeated the air. The breath came out as a sigh. _She hasn’t been gone that long._

_Huge admissions, revelations—or whatever that was—aside…I still don’t understand what she sees in me. I don’t get why this is happening._

_And that question hasn’t gotten any less pointless. Why can’t I just be glad that it is?_

_Really, I should drag me and my broken brain out of bed and face the world. Doing something useful’s a solid plan. Besides, she’s gone and it’s not like I’m gonna catch a catnap without her._

_Catnap? That’d be nice. We could spend a lazy afternoon just lounging in the sunshine._ _Someday. Maybe one day soon._ Buffy allowed herself another moment or two to indulge the fantasy before she rolled out of bed. What she saw when she looked down was pretty much the usual nightmare. At least it was a less colorful nightmare.

Shrugging, she hauled her sorry ass into the bathroom to get clean. It was just the stickiness that bugged her. There wasn’t much sense in wasting a lot of time on it. She ran through the shower, toweled dry and got dressed.

_Today’s gonna be fun. I just know it._

_With any luck, some of the drama’s worn off. Might be nice ’cause I’m not sure how much more of that I can take._

A simple guess and a quick elevator ride landed her in the library. Buffy silently surveyed the scene unnoticed for some time before she said anything, “How goes the plight?”

Willow was buried behind mountains of books at one of the central tables. She half-stood to look around them and grumbled, “Lousy.”

_It hasn’t been long enough for ‘lousy,’ has it?_

_Nah. I bet she’s only up to ‘bleh’ and milking sympathy._

“That good?” Buffy teased. A sunny smile brightened her face. “I’ve got faith. You’ll have it by sundown.” Grumpy or not, didn’t matter. Just being in the same room with Willow made her all fluttery and filled her head with air. An unneeded breath lodged in her throat.

_Yeah…so much for that theory. Stamp me ‘smitten.’ We’ll process the shock and move on._

_Maybe._

_Could take a while._

Willow replied, “Yeah, I’m sure,” sounding lots less than sure. The talking stacks of books were funny. Buffy leaned against a shelf, listening to them ramble with a big, silly grin on her face. “There’s only one teensy hitch, everything I’ve read tells me it’s impossible. No big. We get past that and it’ll be warm salty goodness.”

_My timing could’ve been better with the smit. Here, I seriously need to have my head in the game. And what am I doing? Fawning like some lovesick girl._

_I just can’t shake the feeling. It was amazing. Strange, I kinda get the addiction now. Even with the bad._

_But the ‘bad’ wasn’t all that bad. She loves me. What’s bad about that?_

_Well, other than that it’s totally distracting._

_Guess it’s time to help…_

_Or try._

Buffy offered a reassuring, “We know for a fact that’s not the case,” as she crossed the room. After lingering for a sec to give a sympathetic smile, she came to rest against the table, on the Willow-side of the leaning tower of research.

The smile was ineffectual. It didn’t even put a dent in Willow’s snit. “It’d be helpful if there was something, but there’s just nothing. Researching nothing isn’t exactly helpful.” Truly vexed, Willow asked, “Do you get how rare ensouled vampires are?”

Buffy braced herself before she asked the expected question, “How rare are they, Will?” _Uh-boy. I’ve seen that look. If I laugh, I’m done._ She bit her lip. _Knock, knock…_

Willow replied, “Well, umm… _rare._ ” Her attention drifted back to the book that was open on the table in front of her. “Y’know, _really_ damned rare. Like only a couple of vague accounts in hundreds of years… _rare_. It’d be tough enough if I was just working on my problem. But I’m not. I’m trying to understand the principles. It’s like mixing oil and water or maybe bleach and ammonia. Anyway, it’s not very mixable or shouldn’t be mixable. It’s a real pain in my ass! And there’s nothing in this stupid book!” Willow slammed the book closed. “At least nothing useful. Useless book!”

_Poor book._

_Oh well, at least it wasn’t me._

A question lingered, waiting to be asked. But Buffy was no dummy. She bided her time, waiting for the musty-paper-induced tantrum to pass. _This one was way ahead of schedule. She normally doesn’t go ballistic until at least day two._

_It’s okay. I get it. Even Webster’s is totally shaky on what a soul is. You have to wade through some pretty mucky waters to get anywhere close. I don’t envy her trying to make sense of that crap._

She moved behind Willow. After a tentative touch to make sure it was okay, Buffy rubbed her partner’s shoulders. Silence was fine. There was time. At least a little. She worked to relieve some of the pent-up stress. Finally, she leaned in to give Willow a tender kiss on the neck.

The opportunist in her couldn’t resist stealing a sip of Willow’s coffee. That was a mistake. The grumpy, groggy over-the-shoulder glance Willow gave her made Buffy set the cup down. _’Kay…bad idea._ “So, what else are you working on?” she asked, moving to lean against the table again so she could see Willow’s face.

All the good she’d done just kinda went ‘poof.’ The creases came back, the pout, the fidgets…

“I didn’t tell you?” Willow exclaimed. “I thought I told you.” Her face sagged. Moments later her forehead crinkled pensively. “Maybe I just told Amy.” Ignoring Buffy entirely, Willow focused on a stack of books. “Yeah, ’cause we had that thing. And that thing got in the way of everything. But that’s okay it was an important thing. Not something we could put off.” She rested her elbow against the table and propped her head in her hand. “I could’ve sworn I told you.” That was it. Willow was gone, puzzling and sipping her coffee.

Buffy prodded, “Will?” _This is cute and all, but—_

She bit back a snicker when Willow didn’t quite choke, spray or sputter at the sound of her voice.

Willow abandoned her coffee. “Oh, yeah…I’m working on—well, it’s the thing that makes the most sense. It isn’t the best thing, but it’s workable. It’ll be complicated.”

_Y’know what…?_

Buffy picked up the coffee cup. It just looked too good. That and another, slightly terser, “ _Will?_ ” got the witch’s attention.

She sipped the coffee as Willow got around to explaining, “I wanna try to use the scythe as a conduit again. I may be able to ensoul them all. Of course, we have to get it back. And I need to…”

Willow fell flat again, but it was okay. She’d pretty much managed to leave Buffy speechless. The rest was just frill. Buffy sputtered, “Uh…” _Wow. I totally get why I love her._

_Huh._

Buffy smiled.

_And she loves me._

The giddy schoolgirl action caught up.

_We may actually make it. This might just turn out okay._

Reality took a bite. _I’m getting ahead of myself._ Her smile faded along with all that fluffy, gushy, girly stuff. _There’s still too much we haven’t got figured._

_Not that it isn’t good news. It’s totally good. It’s just too early to tell. But who knows? We may have a shot. If Will can pull this off, it’d simple things up so much. It’s hard to say how it’d go, but face it, anything’s better than twentyish conscienceless killing machines running amok. That kinda puts them on our side. Not totally, but close enough. Good enough to start negotiations._

_Wow, bargain of the lifetime._

_I’ll take it._

Buffy returned the cup and went back to massaging Willow’s shoulders. A few moments drifted idly by. Some of the tension eased. She leaned in to whisper, “I’ll call Mr. Kalderash and get him here. Until then—” She kissed Willow’s cheek. _I don’t know what else to offer. He’s as close to an expert as we have._ “There any more of this?” she asked, gesturing vaguely at the coffee cup.

“Yeah,” Willow replied. “Our guests have been making themselves at home. Jonathan was here earlier to drop off groceries and stuff.” Her tone was worrisomely listless.

It occurred to Buffy that she hadn’t asked Willow about any of this. She’d just opened their door. _Oh boy. This is her home too. That’s bad._ She cleared her throat to cut the nervous edge and asked, “That bother you?” _God, I hope not._

 “Of course not. I think it’s funny as hell,” Willow replied through a giggle.

“Yeah, it’s quite the change,” Buffy replied. The weight coming off her shoulders was an even better change. She craned around Willow to make eye contact and took in the amused grin. It was the best thing she’d seen all day.

_There’s other stuff. Important stuff we should—_

Willow scooted her chair back and everything got tumbley for an instant. Clinging, Buffy landed in Willow’s lap and things got even better.

_Not now._

Soft, warm kisses made all of her doubts go away.

_Later._

  


* * *

  


Two nights spent on couches had left Amy with a few charming mementos. ‘Sore’ and ‘sleepy’ mostly covered it, but only if she generalized, lumping ‘lethargic,’ ‘cranky’ and ‘obtuse’ with their cause. Her neck felt broken without the pleasant, tingly finality of ‘my body’s completely numb.’ _That’s fine. It’s good. I’m totally hunky dory. I don’t need to be able to turn my head to watch the bacon burn._

_It’s funny, I might even say ‘I feel like shit’…except I don’t. I feel horrible, but not terrible. Like that makes any sense at all._

_It makes perfect sense. I finally got through that thick skull of hers. All this is totally worth it for that._

_Every last little ache._

Though Faith was uncharacteristically quiet, the difference in her mood was like night and day. Even groggy, it was easy for Amy to tell. Even blind, she could’ve sensed it, but she wasn’t going to tempt fate by thinking that too loudly. There wasn’t any banging or clatter or swearing. Faith stood at the counter, perfectly calm, slicing up a kiwi. _Just handing her a knife yesterday might’ve ended in a tragedy worthy of the evening news._

After flipping the strips of bacon with a pair of tongs, Amy traded the tongs for a spatula and broke up the pieces of egg with its edge. The tasks were mindless, which was good because they matched her state of mind.

_It’s a little strange how well furnished this kitchen is. You’d think that with a house full of vamps there wouldn’t be much. There’s even a nice mixer. But I guess Willow and Tara did eat here. I just didn’t peg Willow for the type to cook. Maybe it was Tara?_

_I dunno…_

_Really, I should be totally stressed about today. I’m not sure how we’re gonna get any of this done. The list is more than a little overwhelming._

_Actually, it’s insane. We have to not only figure out where, but when and how…and what the heck we’re gonna do about it._

_It’s not a small list. I don’t know where to even begin. So instead, I’m more curious about the soy cheese we tossed. Only vegans eat that crap. It’s hard to imagine Willow as a vegan. But there wasn’t anything real. It was all soy-this and veggie-that, so I guess they both were._

_Who’d have imagined? Love animals. Hate people. I can sorta see it, but I think they got a bit carried away._

_Just a tad._

_And talk about your major lifestyle changes. If she ends up living the way Giles wants her to—_

_An ensoulled, penitent, ex-vegan, Jewish vampire living on nothing but pig’s blood. Talk about the stuff of absurd black comedy. I want to feel bad for her, but that’s the last thing I should feel._

_She got handed this amazing gift that totally blows me away. And what does she—?_

“Well, B…look at you. Getting over the dominatrix complex?” Faith teased.

Amused by the comment, Amy smiled as she glanced over her shoulder to see what it was about. Past the wince and the regret, she saw that Buffy was wearing a white babydoll tee-shirt and jeans. She actually looked like she belonged. Amy turned to take the pressure off her neck, leaning into the counter with her hip. _None of that matters. What’s important’s the here and now. And here, now…everyone’s changing…and not for the worse._ In spite of the pain, her smile stuck. Buffy even returned it.

Amy went back to cooking, but her attention wasn’t there. Listless or not, she was lots more interested in the doings of the not-so-feudy Hatfields and McCoys.

When Buffy placed a block of something on the counter next to the coffeemaker, Faith stopped what she was doing and stared.

The ‘block’ was a bundle of new one-hundred dollar bills, bound with a paper band like Buffy’d just gotten it from a bank. Amy couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed.

Buffy went to the fridge and opened it, like there was nothing unusual about laying ten-thousand dollars on the kitchen counter. Way too late and sounding totally preoccupied, she said, “Huh?” as she rummaged through the fridge.

“Nothing,” Faith replied.

Amy portioned out the eggs onto two plates. When she next looked, Buffy had one of the pints of the pig’s blood Jonathan had brought. Her expression reflected the epitome of distaste. She held the container away from herself as she carried it to the counter.

The bacon was almost done. Amy flipped it one more time to keep it from burning. A cabinet door opened to her right. There was a clunking sound and Buffy moved away.

Curiosity finally got the better of Faith. “Uh…B.,” she said, gesturing to the stack of cash.

_Yeah, that’s pretty much where I was._

Amy tore off some paper towels and folded them to drain the bacon. As she rushed to finish up, Buffy asked, “Would you guys mind taking fifty-three-hundred of that to Giles for me? Use one of the cars. The keys are in a metal thing on the wall to the left of the door downstairs.”

Amy leaned against the counter. It was good to be away from the heat of the stove and able to see what was going on around her. Buffy was at the sink filling a wineglass with blood. Faith divided the fruit up onto their plates and put bread in the toaster as Buffy explained, “This old gypsy named Kalderash is gonna show up at the Magic Box sometime today. I asked him to explain how the whole ‘ensoulling vamps’ thing works.”

Buffy turned, briefly making eye contact with Amy and said, “You might wanna be there to get in on this.” Faith made room when she went to the microwave. “I can’t guarantee where we’re gonna be.” She opened the door and put the glass in, tapping the touch pad as she went on. “We sort of need to figure out what’s up. We have a party to crash. Not knowing the address isn’t exactly good for us.” She went to put the container of blood back in the fridge. “Anyway, I promised him five grand for his trouble, plus expenses.”

The toaster popped just as Buffy finished. Faith grabbed a piece, picked up her plate and went to the island. Taking a seat, she asked, “Okay, so…what do you want us to do with the rest?”

That looked like a great idea to Amy. She grabbed her plate and the other piece of toast and followed.

Buffy was in the middle of pouring a cup of coffee. “I don’t care,” she said with a shrug, glancing over her shoulder. There was a warm, friendly smile on her face. “Buy some clothes. No offense, but you two look like shit.”

Faith grinned. “You’re no ray of sunshine yourself, B.,” she replied through a snicker. “Thanks.”

Buffy took a sip of her coffee and turned to face them. “No problem.”

The microwave beeped. Buffy went to get the glass. As she turned back, Faith asked, “Get into a fight?”

The passing comment made no sense at all. Faith went back to eating as Amy tried to figure out what the heck she meant. Buffy looked normal. A little too normal.

As Buffy retrieved her coffee, she met Amy’s gaze. It wasn’t until then that Amy got how rude she was being. She grinned awkwardly in apology. When she looked down, she saw exactly what Faith meant. Peeking out from under the right sleeve of Buffy’s shirt was a mass of thick scars. Again, Amy couldn’t believe she’d missed it.

_Huh. Well, she didn’t get cut up in the fight. Not that I saw. Besides, that’d be healed by now. So that means that those have to be from before, right?_

_Yeah, has to be. She was human when those happened._

_Well, I guess that explains a few things. It’d be nice if Faith had kept her mouth shut._

_It’d be nice if she knew how._ Amy bit her lip to stifle a snicker. She wanted to be embarrassed for Faith, but that seemed kind of pointless.

Buffy pretty much blew the whole thing off. She left the room, offering, “You could say that,” as a parting shot.

Faith kept eating, oblivious to any offense she might’ve caused. _Business as usual._

Amy picked at her food. _Funny, this sounded so good. Now I’m just—_

Faith made quick work of her plate. She didn’t bother to say anything until she was done. After taking a gulp of her coffee, she asked, “So what’s the plan?”

“They’re up to something,” Amy replied. “They have to be. The clock’s ticking. And I don’t think we should let them go it alone.” It wasn’t exactly a ‘plan.’ More like the first thing that came to mind. And she had a bad feeling about it. “I could follow them if you don’t mind delivering the money alone. I’ll let you know once I figure out where they’re headed.”

Faith wasn’t impressed. As she got up to take her plate to the sink, she asked, “Are you sure that’s smart?”

_Smart?_

_Well, it isn’t exactly stupid._

Amy tossed the piece of bacon she was nibbling at back onto her plate, pushing the entire thing away. “Yeah, it’s no big,” she replied. “They’ll have to use the caves. I can track them above ground. Chances are they won’t even know I’m there.”

Faith turned away from the sink and leaned against counter. “Alright,” she agreed. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”


End file.
